


Diplomatic Relations

by ravensurana



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Mutual Pining, y'all know by now that all I do is slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 74,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensurana/pseuds/ravensurana
Summary: When retired general Amaya ends up stopping a mugging late one night, the last thing she expects is to find herself facing a Xadian soldier. And when Janai, newest ambassador from Xadia, prepares to greet her opposite number--the woman she's fought against for years--the last thing she expects is to recognize her.No. Wait. The last thingeitherof them expects is to be thrown together to foil a plot against both their countries... and maybe to fall in love along the way.
Relationships: Amaya/Janai (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 328





	1. Meet-Cute

Twilit storm-gray clouds loomed overhead by the time Amaya locked up the dojo. Her fingers shook as she pocketed the key. She rested her forehead against the door for a moment, gathering the willpower for the long walk home. Exhaustion tugged at her thoughts, and her sweat-damp gi did little to protect her from shivering in the chill evening air. 

She’d forgotten to grab a change of clothes that morning, distracted by having to message her landlord for an emergency bathroom repair, and someone else’s scheduling mistake at the college had left her scrambling to find so much as a bagel for lunch. She’d planned on catching up before heading to the dojo to teach self-defense, but an impromptu spar between a pair of yellow belts just before the end of class had resulted in a broken nose, and she’d lost a good hour dealing with the aftermath.

And then, just to top things off, that asshole Viren had failed to pick up Soren from the dojo. Again.

Viren’s residence, just around the corner from the palace, was farther away than Amaya was willing to walk on a good day--which this was emphatically _not_ \--and her wallet still sat in her bedroom atop her forgotten jeans, ruling out a taxi. Soren had insisted that it was all right, really, he wasn’t a little kid, he could make it home on his own, but Amaya had put her foot down, and he’d conceded at last.

She’d ended up sitting with the teenager for the better part of an hour, distracting him with drawing games and scrawled notes, futilely texting Viren. When he’d finally responded, he’d claimed--as usual--that he was _so_ sorry, he’d been busy with Claudia on a _very important_ project, it wouldn’t happen again, etc, etc. 

Except this was already the third time this month he’d done this. And though Soren didn’t talk much about his home life, he’d been acting out more in class lately, taking risks and picking fights. Amaya had spent enough time with troubled kids to suspect that Viren had begun to neglect more than just his son’s extracurricular schedule.

Amaya worried her lip, wondering what Harrow would say if she called CPS on his college friend. She should probably get a better read on the situation first, talk to a few people, but… she wasn’t going to rule it out as an option.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she started toward her apartment, and grimaced as a drop of rain landed on her nose, trickling down to drip from her chin.

Great. Could this day get any worse?

Amaya sighed, running her fingers through her tangled hair and ordering her thoughts as she fell into the familiar path back to her apartment. There wasn’t much she could do for Soren right now. She still needed to contact the Dean with her follow-up concerns about the lecture series next month. She had papers to grade back at home. And the diplomatic event at the Xadian embassy loomed over her schedule next week; Harrow’s email requesting her presence still sat in her inbox, unanswered.

Amaya hated ‘official functions’. Hated dressing up, schmoozing, pretending to be interested in so-and-so’s golf scores or new vacation home. Diplomacy was Gren’s passion, not hers. She preferred direct action--teaching, helping people out.

But.. Harrow was family. And Amaya had precious little family left.

She tilted her head back, letting fat, infrequent raindrops spatter on her face. She should just agree to go, take on the role of temporary diplomat. He knew what she was willing to do to avoid attending Xadian functions. If he was asking anyway, he obviously needed the favor.

The crossing light blinked green, and Amaya glared at the imposing facade of the embassy, looming overhead as she crossed the street. The war might be over, but the scars still lingered. Even now, Amaya found it hard to look at the golden sunburst inlay over the embassy’s door. Whenever she did, she couldn’t help but remember the insignia on uniforms in border skirmishes, dazzling flashes meant to disorient and blind an enemy. Remember dragging injured soldiers from the line of fire, blinking spots from her vision and searching desperately for a medic.

She shivered again, from more than the cold. Blew on her hands and tucked them into her armpits, marching unseeing past the building.

The last glimmers of sunlight faded from the horizon, and Amaya shook her head, refocusing her attention on her surroundings. The city streets were usually safe this close to the center of town, but there’d been unsettling rumors as of late. At least two students at the college had been robbed near campus recently, and there’d been a rash of break-ins in the past couple of weeks.

Amaya had started a sort of informal patrol on her way home in response, with the blessing of a couple of her friends at the KPD. Tired as she was tonight, she didn’t plan on going out of her way like she usually did, but the least she could do was keep an eye out as she walked.

She’d made it almost two blocks past the embassy before something caught her eye, hyper-awareness making her heartrate surge. A dark alley beside a convenience store held a flickering streetlamp, an overflowing dumpster, and--

Amaya was running before she truly parsed what she was seeing.

###### 

Janai cursed herself in three languages. Her back was pressed to a filthy alley wall, one of her bags of groceries split on the ground at her feet, and someone stood over her with the gleam of a knife in one hand.

 _And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse,_ she thought peevishly.

It had been bad enough that she’d let the Council talk her into accepting the role of Ambassador, now they were on the verge of signing the peace treaty and solidifying the years-long armistice. Bad enough that she’d had to leave her home, her brother, even her cat, to come live in the land she’d grown up hating. But now she was finally here, Janai was beginning to realize that she hated _everything_ about Katolis--the air was freezing, the food was bland, the accents were flat as hell… and, apparently, the citizenry had already taken a dislike to her presence.

She shifted her weight as subtly as she could, watching the knife, ignoring the mugger’s demands for her wallet. Her mind flickered with strategies, blocks and counterattacks. The alley was cramped, but she’d fought in worse conditions. If the mugger lunged to the left, she could duck aside. Come in low and fast. If they went for her throat, she could bring her arm up to hold them off. Swing the heavy bag in her left hand as an improvised flail.

The mugger took one more step, and Janai sucked in a breath, tensed to lunge--

Her assailant glanced to the side, eyes widening, just as a blur of white flew past Janai and slammed into the mugger with a thud loud enough to make Janai flinch. The knife clattered to the ground at her feet, amidst her spilled groceries.

Janai stared, astonished, down at a muscular figure in rumpled gi. Their knee was pressed to the mugger’s back, grinding painfully into their spine. With one hand, the figure held one of the mugger’s arms wrenched upward at an unnatural angle. A bulky cellphone in their other hand cast bluish light on a sharp face, round nose, short tangled hair.

“I was doing fine on my own,” Janai snapped reflexively, heat rising in her face at being caught in such an embarrassing position. _Some ‘Golden Knight’ I am, cornered by some nobody with a knife._

To her bewilderment, her ‘savior’ didn’t even bother to look up at her. They tapped quickly at their cellphone with one thumb. A bizarre time to send a text message, for certain--now the initial shock was wearing off, the mugger was beginning to stir, muffled threats still spilling from a face half-squished against the pavement below.

Janai edged away from the wall, circling the tableau, stepping gingerly past her spilled bags. “Shouldn’t you be calling the police?” she demanded. “This is no time for a selfie!”

The muscled figure in the gi continued to ignore Janai, scrolling through some app Janai didn’t recognize--updating their profile picture on VigilanteBook, no doubt. She gritted her teeth, pulling out her own cellphone. Miraculously, it had survived the encounter unscathed. She dialed the hastily-memorized emergency number for the Katolis police, tapping one foot impatiently as the phone rang.

“What’s your emergency?” asked a deliberately calm voice on the other end of the line.

“I need to report an attempted mugging,” Janai said, and gave a quick, detailed precis of the encounter when prompted. Her eyebrows rose when the operator told her that officers were already on their way, and as she assured the operator that she was uninjured, she heard sirens approaching rapidly from the city center.

 _Well, at least they’ve got decent response time in this Light-forsaken city,_ Janai thought as a pair of officers rushed into the alleyway, trampling the spices that had fallen from Janai’s bag when it split. She gritted her teeth, scooping up the rest of her groceries as the would-be mugger was cuffed and hauled upright.

The figure in the gi turned to look at Janai at last, and Janai bit back an annoyed sigh at the momentary flash of wide-eyed confusion on the person’s angular face. The intense, lingering stare. She’d been warned that the facial markings denoting her military distinction might garner unwanted attention in Katolis, but she had stubbornly refused to remove them or cover them up to make people more comfortable. “Take a picture,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “Or better yet, go make a police report, since you’re apparently so determined to feel useful.”

That intense stare lingered for a moment longer, then the figure shook their head and pulled out their phone again. _Honestly?_ Janai thought, turning to watch the cops--then blinked startlement as the person flashed their phone screen in her face.

“Are you ok?” the phone read.

Janai’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why would--

The clue dropped like a brick. Why the person hadn’t responded to Janai’s demands. The way they’d looked so intently at Janai while she spoke. The reason they hadn’t called the police.

The would-be-helpful bystander was deaf, and Janai was an _asshole_.

 _Assumptions,_ she thought, heat rising in her cheeks--but even so, she hadn’t been the only one in the wrong here. She pulled out her own phone, swiped her next statement instead of speaking it. “I’m fine. Thanks for trying to help, but that was reckless. You could have gotten us both hurt or worse.”

The person’s expression darkened as they read Janai’s words, and they typed even faster this time, thumbs dancing over the keyboard. “I was doing my job,” their phone read. “I’m not going to apologize for responding to a dangerous situation.”

Janai blew out an annoyed huff. “Did you stop to get a read on the hostile? Or did you just respond on instinct? I’ve seen situations like that turn bad, and fast. You’re lucky all they had was a knife.”

“You’re not the only one who’s seen some shit,” the person wrote, their face stormier than the Katolis sky. “And I knew what I was doing.” Janai started to write a response, but found the words “Go talk to the cops” shoved in front of her face instead, coupled with a finger pointed deliberately over her shoulder.

The person yanked their phone from Janai’s view almost before she could finish reading and stalked off to confer with one of the officers, dropping Janai palpably from their attention.

Janai blew out an exasperated breath and gathered her thoughts as another officer approached her. She was rattled, true--and pissed as hell by now--but she wasn’t so rattled that she couldn’t file a report with the authorities.

By the time she finished detailing the situation and looked up, the gi-clad person was gone. _Good riddance,_ Janai thought, watching the police bundle her assailant into their car. She turned to stalk back to the embassy with her remaining groceries. With any luck, the gym would be empty this late at night. One of the punching bags there had her name on it, after today.

And maybe, just maybe, if she tired herself out enough, she’d be able to sleep tonight.

###### 

Amaya closed the door of her apartment firmly behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. She’d just _had_ to dare the universe to make her day worse, hadn’t she?

And for the life of her, Amaya couldn’t imagine much worse than being confronted, out of the blue, with a Xadian soldier in a back alley in Katolis. Not now, when she was already stressed from the long day.

She breathed in deep, trying to chase away the recall of golden markings spilling down dark cheeks, gleaming in the stuttering light of the streetlamp. The legs-wide stance of Xadian hand-to-hand, familiar from more than a dozen border skirmishes. The scorn on the officer’s face--they _had_ to be an officer, with that bearing, the way they’d analyzed the situation, criticizing Amaya’s actions like she was one of their own troops--

Amaya shuddered, still chilled, adrenaline draining from her system now the threat was over. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from rushing in. The glimpse she’d caught was clear enough--the gleam of the knife, the threatening posture. And even now, she didn’t regret her actions. The soldier had been upset with her, which was obnoxious as hell--but now Amaya wasn’t in the heat of the moment, she could see that she probably would have reacted much the same if someone had rushed in to ‘save’ _her_. 

But… still. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she’d left well enough alone and something bad had happened.

Shower. She should shower, warm herself up. Get something to eat. Maybe even take one of those sleeping pills she hated--they left her groggy the next day, but she had too much going on this week to lie awake all night.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Two long buzzes, one short. She fished it out, grinned at the bright pink light blinking at her. “-home emoji- u?” read the text, strawberry emoji placed on either side of Gren’s name at the top of the screen. He always seemed to have a sixth sense for when Amaya needed cheering up.

Amaya’s thumbs danced over the keyboard, tapping out a reply. “yes PAH. LONG day. now shower, later talk.”

His response was a simple thumbs-up, and Amaya swapped to her email before she lost her nerve. Stared again at Harrow’s request before writing a quick reply. “Harrow--I won’t lie and pretend I’m happy to do this. But I know how important the peace treaty is to you. It’s important to Katolis. And I’m so sick of the fighting. So if you need me there, I’ll be there.”

She hesitated a moment, signed the email with “Love, Amaya.” Hit ‘send’ and tossed the phone onto her sofa, then headed off to take a long, hot shower.

Amaya padded back out to the livingroom nearly an hour later, feeling marginally more human now that she was clean and dressed and fed, and groaned at the stack of papers set neatly on her coffee table. She’d all but forgotten the essays, and was momentarily tempted to just set them aside and go to bed. But no--she’d be in no condition to deal with them in the morning. Better to get them out of the way now, even as it reduced the chances she’d actually get any sleep tonight.

She glared down at the title of the first essay, ‘A Broad Study of the Causes, Concerns, and Incidents Leading Up to the Unfortunate Katolis-Xadian War’. The font was at least four points larger than she’d specified, an obvious attempt to take up extra space. She’d only asked for three pages, minimum. To her, distilling the complex interpersonal and socioeconomic factors to even a ten-page handout had been difficult, but she’d learned in the past couple of years to never underestimate the laziness of college students.

Letting out a long, annoyed breath, Amaya settled down onto her sofa with the stack of papers, a red pen, and a generous glass of wine, and got to work tearing essays apart.

Several of the papers were badly written, errors obvious to even the most rudimentary spellchecker. More of them were badly researched, events misremembered or outright fabricated. A few were xenophobic enough to make even Amaya cringe, and she took careful notes on these, so she could direct her next few lectures toward correcting the myriad misconceptions therein.

One or two were patently ridiculous, and she found herself scribbling a few personal anecdotes that she hoped might take the wind out of the sails of the more bizarre conspiracy theories. Xadians were secretly magical beings who looked down on Katolis for their lack of magical knowledge? Absurd. What kind of forums did these kids frequent?

She finally set the last paper aside, tension pressing a tight line into her forehead. For the most part, she loved her class. This month’s lesson, though, always hit her hard--she hated reading through casually inaccurate reports of events she’d lived through, bled for.

But Amaya had promised herself years ago that she would do all she could to keep those events from repeating, and if that meant telling a bunch of gung-ho eighteen-year-olds about what it had really been like on the battlefield, then so be it.

Staring at her still half-full glass, she sighed and made her way to the medicine cabinet, pulled out a prescription bottle. Swallowed one of the sleeping pills with a generous pull of wine. Then she settled back onto the sofa, bringing up her messaging app. It was late, but Gren wouldn’t care. He kept the _strangest_ hours, and always seemed to be ready to help Amaya at a moment’s notice. If anyone here had ‘magical powers’, it was probably him.

“essays finish,” she texted. “wine drink pill take, sleep not-yet. u?”

He answered within moments. “I tell, u not-believe.” The ‘not’ was a red circle with a slash through it, the same as a thumb under his chin.

Amaya grinned, flipping through the stack until she found conspiracy-kid’s essay. “essay grade--learn xadians secret elves, magic use. dragons ride. now believe anything?”

Gren replied with a laughing/crying emoji. “okok, TRUTH, my life not-strange.” The picture he sent next was blurry, but recognizably a selfie of Gren giving a beaming thumbs-up in front of a brightly lit rollercoaster, pink and green lights washing out the copper color of his hair.

“u find carnival WHERE?” Amaya asked, incredulous. He’d probably driven an hour out of town on rumor alone. She didn’t know how he’d got through bootcamp with that sense of childlike wonder intact, much less the rest of the war, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

A shrugging emoji. “near Duren. not-worry u, return class before.”

Amaya laughed again, her eyelids already feeling heavier as the sleeping pill kicked in. “u lie, I track. find. punish.”

Another selfie, this one actually taken on the ride. “I not-worry. not ur type.” A grinning emoji. “see u tmw. sleep good.”

“I try,” Amaya texted, then turned off the screen. Set the phone before her on the coffee table and sank back into the cushions.

She thought she should really get up, brush her teeth, go to her bedroom. But her couch was soft and comfortable, and her apartment was warm, and her eyes were already slipping shut....

###### 

Janai tapped the ‘send’ button with more force than was strictly necessary, shoving herself back from the computer in her modest quarters. There. She’d finished her first Official Report as an ambassador. _Won’t Khessa be_ so _proud?_ she thought acerbically, tilting her head back to look at the framed family portrait hung on the wall beside her bed.

Ugh. She hated that portrait. They all looked so _formal_ , dressed in their royal best. No personalities. Nothing allowed but perfection.

Her gaze caught, as always, on the tiny rip in one of her sleeves. All but invisible unless you knew it was there, knew precisely where to look. She’d still got a thirty-minute lecture about it, about ‘appearances’ and ‘propriety’ and ‘what she owed Xadia’.

She’d dared to ask once--as a child, still unaware of all the things she had that other people lacked--didn’t Xadia owe her anything? Why was it nothing but a one-way relationship between her and her country?

And she would never forget the answer, given to her by a mother whose voice was now lost to time, captured on official speeches that Janai had never been able to bring herself to listen to. “Xadia has already given you all she has. All you are. It’s up to you to repay that debt, princess.”

Janai had still rebelled, in her own way. She’d joined the military, as expected--but she’d risen through the ranks through hard work and sacrifice. Refusing whatever favors she could get away with, even as this widened the gulf between her and Khessa.

She remembered standing onstage at her officers’ graduation, scanning the crowd for a sister who had long since become a queen, and finding nothing there. Returning to her quarters to find an impersonal note of congratulations, typed by a secretary and hastily signed.

 _What is the point,_ she wondered now, just as she had back then, _of giving everything to a country, and nothing to the people in it?_

Ugh. She was feeling far too melancholy, caught up by the muted grays of this rain-dampened city. Tiring herself out in the embassy’s gym had done little to cheer her up--she’d been too caught up in the day’s events, in thoughts of the upcoming summit, to fall into the meditative comfort of repetitive motion. All she’d managed was to make herself weary and sore, and she still had duties before she could sleep.

Janai sighed heavily, shoved her chair back across the floor to her computer. Opened her email and bit back a curse, scrolling through everything that had filtered in throughout the day. She’d been assured that the flow would dry up some once she was more established, but for now, the sheer mass of data was overwhelming. 

She scanned the list, looking for keywords to help triage the mess. Asylum requests. Intel reports. Updates on the state of things back home. No personal emails, though she hadn’t truly expected any--she had very few people she could truly call ‘friends’. Most of her acquaintances still thought of her as their princess, or their superior, instead of their friend.

Still, Janai thought longingly of the palace in Lux Aurea. The night would be warm, and dry, and she could be sitting out on the veranda while she read her reports instead of stuck indoors, artificial lighting not quite disguising the dreariness outside the window. The soft whisper of desert winds instead of the susurrus of rain against glass.

Homesickness would pass, she knew it would. Once she’d been here long enough to recognize the sounds, the smells. The people. Once she knew her surroundings better, so she wasn’t jumping at everything. It had been the same way during the war. Surely peacetime couldn’t be so hard.

And if Janai kept telling herself that, maybe she would begin to believe it.

###### 

True to his word, Gren already sat within the classroom when Amaya opened the door. One ankle was crossed over the opposite knee, a folded puzzle book in his lap, and he tapped a pencil absently on the paper. “Hi,” he signed casually, barely glancing up as Amaya stepped through the door. “7-letter word for self-discipline?”

“My name’s only five letters,” Amaya signed, grinning as Gren laughed, an L shaking beside his cheek. “Ascetic?” she spelled, and stepped past him, setting her bag heavily beside the desk.

He frowned down at the paper, nodded, and scribbled the word into place. “ _Thank_ you,” he signed, the gesture overly elaborate, just to make Amaya laugh. He could obviously tell she needed the laugh, after the stress of the past few days. He looked up at last, his gaze keen. “Were the papers that bad?”

Amaya shook her head, fingers pinched into a ‘no’. “No worse than usual,” she signed, leaning against the desk. “It’s the royal-family stuff that’s really getting to me. Harrow needs a favor. I might be dragging you around this week, so let me know if you’ve got plans.”

“You know I don’t plan anything,” Gren signed, flashing her a dimpled smile. “Things just kind of happen to me.”

“So I’d noticed,” Amaya signed, motion catching her eye--the first of her students had begun filing into the room, one or two signing ‘hello’ on the way to their seats. She returned the gesture, dropping the conversation with Gren as she fell back into her teacher persona. She pulled the essays from her bag, set them on the edge of her desk as Gren put away his book and took up his usual position--just to her side, where she could see him while facing the rest of the classroom.

Amaya stepped forward the moment the clock flipped to 5. The flurry of motion in the tiered rows of desks settled into attentive stillness. “Welcome back,” she signed, and from the corner of her vision, she saw Gren amplifying everything she said to the room at large. “Before we begin, please note that next week’s classes might be cancelled. Keep an eye on your email just in case.”

She scooped up the stack of essays, sorting them into quick piles, and handed each to the front of the row. “Pass these back, and we’ll start discussing them.”

Tucking away a smile, Amaya counted the seconds, fingers fluttering at her side, until Naseer got their essay. They flipped it over, frowned, and--right on cue--raised their hand. She pointed, and they immediately signed their usual question. “Is there any extra credit this week?”

She didn’t know why Naseer bothered--they consistently had some of the highest scores in class--but then, Amaya had always been more interested in sports than grades. “Propaganda,” she signed with a flourish. “Find and analyze a piece of propaganda distributed at the beginning of the war--a poster, a meme, an advertisement. Get it to me by next Tuesday.” Another wave of motion through the room, as those who actually cared took notes.

Amaya turned then to the board, wrote up several headings. “Now, I noticed a few areas where everyone’s general knowledge was lacking. We’ll start with the economics….”

As she lectured, the tension began to release from her shoulders, and her worries about the upcoming diplomatic summit faded from her mind. Teaching had been stressful at first, but she’d soon found herself falling into a rhythm, something almost meditative. It was like running drills, in a way. Laying out everything in order so that it fell into place.

Gren caught her attention, and she turned to see Kimber’s hand in the air. Amaya pointed to her, and Kimber combed her hair back from her face, started to speak. “So, like, I read somewhere that tensions were already high, before the whole--”

She turned her face a little too far, and Amaya’s gaze sharpened as she focused intently on the girl’s lips, trying to catch the shape of the consonants, extrapolate the vowels. It was too late, though--Amaya had missed several key words, and was left grappling for meaning in the rest of the sentence. “--in Duren? Was that, like, a thing?”

Amaya’s first instinct, as usual, was to bullshit her way through. She had most of the context she needed--it wouldn’t be too difficult to come up with a satisfactory answer. But those instincts were in the past, now. She didn’t feel like she needed to prove herself like she had back in boot camp; she wasn’t as stubborn as she’d been in her hot-headed twenties. Amaya had no need to impress anyone in this community college classroom, and Gren wasn’t here just to amplify her words to the class--he was _also_ there to catch anything Amaya missed, so she didn’t have to exhaust herself so much.

She glanced aside, watching his signs, and the rest of the sentence fell into place. “The whole tariff thing, because of that famine in Duren,” Kimber had said.

Amaya gave Gren a faint nod, gratitude twitching her mouth into a smile, and signed, “That’s partially true. You see….”

She wrapped up her lecture just in time--she was turning back toward the board to add one last note when the bell rang, vibrations shivering through the floor. The lights in the room dimmed slightly in response, and Amaya finished writing with a flourish and turned back to the class. “Remember, check your email before coming in next week,” she reminded them. “Enjoy your weekend!”

Movement burst throughout the room, and Amaya turned back to Gren, rolling her shoulders with a sigh. “Good class,” she signed, offering him a wry smile. “But I have a feeling that by next week I’ll be wishing I was back here reading those essays again.”

Gren leaned in, resting one hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do great,” he signed, optimistic as always. “I know you always say diplomacy’s not your thing, but you’re smart. You’re skilled.” He grinned, open-mouthed. “And if you need me to kidnap you, I’m only a text message away.”

Amaya laughed, giving him a playful shove. “I might just take you up on that,” she signed. Harrow hadn’t yet responded to Amaya’s late-night email, but she expected to feel her phone buzzing at any moment with an update from him. And despite Gren’s encouraging words, she couldn’t help but dread the next week’s events. She didn’t want to visit the Embassy. She didn’t want to stand there before people she’d tried her very best to kill and act like that was all in the past.

But… whatever Harrow asked of her, Amaya would see it through. She owed that to him. She owed it to Katolis.

She owed it to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS
> 
> I was gonna write a one-shot. A cute, fluffy one-shot that required Janai to have a cellphone. Modern AU, nbd, I can handle that. Aaaaand then I made the mistake of brainstorming.
> 
> The brainstorming got extensive. I started to get ideas for other one-shots in the same universe. And then wrote in my notes "IF I’m gonna write more than just this one, I should prooooobably establish the world with a meeting fic first."
> 
> This is that 'meeting fic'. It grew WILDLY out of hand. Somehow, I don't think anyone will mind.
> 
> Picture of Professor Amaya here: https://bit.ly/3e3B5a5


	2. Formality

Janai stood in the embassy’s receiving hall, doing her best not to fidget in the uncomfortable opulence of a Xadian officer's dress uniform. The high boots gleamed with mirror-bright gold, as did the belt and shoulders, and there were more tassels, ropes, and frills than anything in Janai’s extensive childhood dress-up box. Her locs had been twisted into a complex pattern of coils, an honest-to-Light crown resting atop them, and its unfamiliar weight made her neck ache.

She _felt_ like a child playing dress-up in this, or perhaps like a doll, stuffed with straw and put up on display. Longingly, she thought of her usual uniform. Comfortable, practical, despite the elaborate insignia on her chest and shoulders. She scarcely thought she would be able to walk quickly in this outfit, much less fight in an emergency.

 _There should be no reason for you to fight,_ rang Khessa’s voice in her mind. Stern, commanding, brooking no response other than ‘Yes, sister’. _I like this ‘peace accord’ no more than you, but we will not be the ones to break it._

‘No reason to fight’, and yet Janai found herself attacked within her first week in Katolis. She’d found herself half-hoping this would be the start of something bigger. An assassination attempt would have justified Janai’s reluctance to take this post, would have given her something more to think about than how much she didn’t want to be here.

The embassy’s intelligence division, though, had discovered no ties to terrorist groups or insurgents. The man had, by all appearances, been nothing more than a common mugger, looking for an easy target. And Janai, the obvious tourist, had been his mark. It was almost insulting.

Sounds from the hallway filtered into the room, and Janai instinctively snapped to perfect attention. She looked the very picture of the best the Xadian military had to offer, even if this job still made her feel like a raw recruit, unprepared for the magnitude of what she’d signed up for.

The wide doors at the far end of the room swung open, and the majordomo beside Janai cleared her throat, pitching her voice to carry through the room. “Presenting General Amaya of the Standing Battalion, Hero of the Breach.”

Janai bit back any outward reaction--she’d gotten _that_ out of the way when she’d read the notes on her schedule for the day. The name was more than familiar to her, though she’d never had occasion to see the woman’s face. During the war, the General had been one of Xadia’s most deadly antagonists. She’d struck at every weak spot that had formed in Janai’s defenses, including several which Janai’s top strategists were only now beginning to work out.

The official story between the two kingdoms was that the armistice had been borne from a simple, mutual desire to stop the bloodshed--but Janai, and those on the field with her, knew that Khessa might never have considered such a concept if General Amaya hadn’t so effectively worn down Xadia’s defenses. Khessa had wanted to conquer, to end the threat to her people once and for all. Janai had never once expected her to sign the peace treaty, could still hardly believe everything had come to this.

And now Janai was, at last, about to look upon the face that had haunted her dreams. The face of the woman she’d spent years trying to kill or capture, the woman whose name she’d cursed while standing over graves cut into the sunbaked earth.

General Amaya strode into the room then, a commanding presence. Her steps were firm, though not aggressively so. She was tall, though not so tall as Janai. The cut of her deep blue dress uniform couldn’t quite hide the definition of the woman’s shoulders and arms. Janai spared a fleeting, wistful glance at the simplicity of that uniform, which somehow managed to say ‘this is someone important’ without screaming it from the rooftops.

Then the General stepped close enough that her features came into plain view, and a surge of dread stole the breath from Janai’s lungs, forced her to lock her knees lest they buckle at the sight.

The woman’s clothing was no longer rumpled, her short dark hair no longer mussed or limp with sweat. Rain no longer speckled her face, her skin no longer flushed with exertion, the better to see the deep scar cut into one cheek.

But her eyes....

Those eyes were just as intense as they had been not two days ago, staring up at Janai in the dark of a rainsoaked night. When the General had, apparently, rushed in without hesitation to save the life of a Xadian soldier.

And when Janai had proceeded to lecture the greatest military hero in Katolis’ recent history.

She stared for a moment that felt far too long, everything finally falling into place. She’d known the General was Deaf. That information had been common knowledge among the troops by the time the war was over, though the fact had been overshadowed by the woman’s attention to detail and her tactical genius. But a darkened, grimy alleyway was so far removed from any context in which Janai had ever expected to encounter the woman. Was it truly so surprising that she hadn’t added ‘buff vigilante’ to ‘Deaf’ and come up with ‘retired General’?

Training took over Janai’s mind then, to her relief. She stepped automatically forward, glancing aside as Kazi--one of the Embassy staff--detached themself from the crowd to walk alongside her. Kazi had been introduced to her as an interpreter, but she hadn’t thought to ask what languages they spoke. She was embarrassed now to realize she’d had some vague idea that the interpreter was like an app--input random foreign language, output something Janai understood.

The two generals met in the center of the room. General Amaya dropped at once to one knee, ducking her head, fist pressed to her collarbone; Janai crossed her palms on her chest and bowed deep. “It is good to meet you, General,” Janai said formally, her heart pounding in her chest as their eyes met again. The polite lie grated against her tongue.

General Amaya nodded, and swept her right palm across her left. Bumped her fists together, her face perfectly impassive save for the faint twitch in the corner of one eye. Was she imagining all the ways she’d wanted to kill Janai over the years? Because Janai was desperately trying to banish such thoughts from her own head.

Kazi cleared their throat. “It’s good to meet you as well, General,” they interpreted, their voice just as expressionless, though they kept casting panicked little glances at Janai, as though afraid she was about to snap and lunge at the new arrival. And the worst part was, Janai wasn’t entirely certain they were incorrect.

By the Light, this was going to be a long day.

###### 

Standing in the ridiculously gaudy receiving hall of the Xadian embassy, Amaya didn’t know which urge was stronger within her: the urge to laugh, or the urge to _swear_ , with the most creative invectives she could devise.

She’d almost backed out of her promise to Harrow the moment he’d revealed his plans for the upcoming diplomatic summit. Only her sense of obligation had kept her there as he’d detailed his idea to have her chaperone the new Xadian ambassador as the woman got her bearings here in Katolis.

The new ambassador. General Janai, the Golden Knight of Lux Aurea, heir to the Sunfire Throne. The woman responsible for more spilled Katolian blood than any other soldier in Xadia.

Of course, Amaya had mused, the same was probably said of her. She was no stranger to her own reputation across the border. 

She’d held--still held, to be honest, despite it all--a lingering, farfetched daydream that General Janai had accepted this post for some altruistic reason. That the woman harbored some measure of regret for what the war had done to them all, what they’d wrought ‘for the good of their people’.

But whatever Amaya had thought of the woman, whatever she’d hoped--those thoughts had all fled the moment she’d stepped into this overly-dramatic room and come face-to-face with the wide-eyed woman she’d encountered once before, in a darkened alleyway in the rain.

General Janai had certainly looked worse for the wear then. The elaborate costume she now wore was a far cry from the mussed casual clothing she’d been bundled into on that chill night. Her stance was proud now, the Sunburst crown nestled in her hair proclaiming her status for all to see. Only two things were the same: the golden lines framing her dark eyes and flowing down her cheeks, and the consternation on her features.

To the General’s credit, her distress was visible for only a moment before being tucked away, replaced with a blankly courteous expression. “I trust this afternoon finds you well?” she asked smoothly--her lips were easier to read now than in the dark of two days ago, though the unfamiliar cadence of her words still tripped Amaya up, and she glanced aside at the embassy’s interpreter to assure herself she’d understood the sentiment.

“Very well, thank you,” Amaya said, though with only a ghost of the smile that usually accompanied these signs. “And you?”

The corner of General Janai’s lips twisted, a wry little microexpression that somehow animated her entire face, before smoothing back into blankness. “Well enough,” she said. “It is my understanding that the two of us are to work together for the duration of this summit.”

“Yes, by King Harrow’s request,” Amaya said, and left it at that, uncertain of what else to say. She’d encouraged the armistice, aided Harrow as he’d drafted the treaty he and Queen Khessa would sign next week. And still, standing before General Janai, she found that her gut roiled with questions. With accusations. With all the words she’d wished to fling at Xadia’s royal family over the years--and would never get the chance to, now the war was over. Now they were supposed to be putting that all aside, building a new world together.

In the dark of the night, this thought still ate at Amaya. Whether it was even possible for them to find common ground, after so many years of hate. Whether she, _personally_ , was strong enough to do so. This peace was still so tenuous, so fragile. One wrong step might send it crashing down, dragging a new generation into a conflict they’d had no part in creating.

But… as terrible as the essays were at times, as ludicrous as their assertions might be, it still lifted Amaya’s spirits to know that to some people, at least, the war was already history. That memories of destruction didn’t consume their waking thoughts and taint their sleeping minds. And if Amaya had to work with her greatest enemy to preserve that future, then so be it.

General Janai inclined her head again, shallow this time. “My staff will provide you with my itinerary,” she said. The interpreter’s signs were textbook-perfect, and Amaya quashed the fleeting wish that she’d been able to bring Gren along, just so the conversation didn’t feel so… sterile. “For now, we should retire for lunch. Do you have any dietary restrictions we should be aware of?”

Amaya hadn’t kept kosher since the war. “No,” she signed, and held back the customary line used by Harrow’s staff, ‘unless you talk to Ezran’. It was a ridiculous in-joke--a game played by the prince, giving Barius an excuse to craft new and interesting treats for the royal family--but its omission just served to remind her again that she was among strangers here. Strangers who would have gladly seen her dead a few short years ago. Some of whom might _still_ wish to see her dead. It wouldn’t do to let her guard down, even for the space of a meal.

 _Especially_ for a meal, she thought wryly, falling into step behind the General as the embassy staff arrayed at the far end of the room began to disperse. Poisoning her here wouldn’t exactly be subtle, but a determined would-be assassin wouldn’t care about that. In fact, some people--on both sides--would probably welcome the chance to restart hostilities.

She shuddered, and made a more deliberate effort to watch her surroundings.

The ‘luncheon’ was an exercise in slow torture. Amaya was too strained to have much of an appetite, but needed to eat enough that she didn’t seem rude. General Janai seemed just as disinclined to converse as she was, but it wouldn’t do for them to ignore one another, so the conversation limped along with formal, empty pleasantries. The hapless interpreter kept glancing nervously between them, as though expecting a fight to break out over the spiced buns.

Finally, half an hour or so later, Amaya judged that she’d lingered long enough. Her email had buzzed during the meal, detailing General Janai’s duties that week; the woman was free most afternoons, it seemed. Reluctantly, Amaya offered to take her on a tour of the city tomorrow, and the General accepted with just as obvious reluctance.

A staff member came up to General Janai then, touching her arm and telling her something that Amaya couldn’t read, and the General took this chance to depart with a grateful air and a final exchange of meaningless well-wishes. Amaya leaned back in her chair, letting out a long breath, and wondered yet again what she’d allowed Harrow to talk her into.

Motion, at her side. She tensed, her heartrate spiking, and snapped her gaze over--to see the interpreter standing beside her, eyes wide behind their glasses, hands held up to show they were empty. “I’m sorry!” they signed rapidly, losing a little of the extreme formality they’d used for General Janai’s words. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Amaya shook her head. “No, it’s all right. I’ve just had a stressful week. Did you need something?”

To her surprise, a smile broke across the interpreter’s face. “I’m Kazi,” they signed, spelling the name with the fluid ease of long practice. “My pronouns are they and them. It’s nice to meet you! I’m hearing, but fluent in both Xadian and Katolis sign language. I was born in Lux Aurea and studied at Sunfire University under Professor Anakwe, who is Deaf. None of my family are Deaf, but I’m very interested in linguistics.”

Amaya found that she, too, was smiling. The last interpreter the Xadians had provided for her had been curt almost to the point of rudeness, off the clock. Kazi’s cheeks had gone pinker the more they signed, and they finished the introduction by ducking their head shyly, as though afraid they’d begun rambling.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Amaya signed, her smile genuine this time. “I’m Amaya, though you already knew that. She and her. I was born here and attended the local schools with my sister, who was hearing--none of my family are Deaf, either. I enlisted in the military right out of high school, though I attended Galard after the war to get my teaching certification. I visit the local community center on Mondays--if you’d like, I can take you with me next week, introduce you. It’ll be good for you to have connections here.”

Kazi’s eyes went wide. “I’d like that very much, thank you,” they signed, though they still looked nervous about it. They reached into a gold-edged pocket and fumbled out a business card, handing it over with a polite nod. 

Amaya pulled out her phone and tapped the cell number in, set the vibration pattern to _long, short, long_. She glanced back up at Kazi. “Favorite color?”

“Oh! Um, pink,” Kazi signed, the motions shy.

“I’ll have to introduce you to my friend Gren,” Amaya signed, smiling as she set the light-notification to pink and saved the contact. “That’s his favorite, too.”

She glanced at the time on her phone, and was startled to realize both that she needed to get going, and that by now she was reluctant to do so. “I have to leave, but I’ll keep in touch,” she signed, flashing Kazi another smile. “See you on Monday, if not before?”

Kazi nodded, beaming, and hurried off into the embassy, leaving Amaya free to make her way back out to the street. She blew out a long breath, looking up at the sunburst above the embassy’s doors. Saw it as the golden lines trailing down from General Janai’s dark eyes.

She’d managed this much, at least. Perhaps this summit wouldn’t be so terrible, after all....

Amaya couldn’t even convince herself of that.

Smiling wryly, she shoved her hands into her pockets and made her way back toward the dojo.

###### 

Janai dismissed the embassy staff member at last, her mind whirling with schedules and possibilities. This was it, then. The final plans for the peace summit were in place, though Janai wasn’t precisely looking forward to any of them.

Especially since, as it transpired, she would be spending much of that time accompanied by General Amaya.

She sighed, long and gusty, and tipped her head back to rest against the wall. She’d paced her room for a good half-hour that morning, cursing about being forced to work alongside someone she’d rather see imprisoned or worse. But now that she’d actually _met_ the General, her feelings were even more of a muddle.

Throughout the excruciating meeting, the woman had been polite, though cold--not surprising, as Janai had acted much the same. But still, every time Janai had glanced up, she’d seen nothing more than a rumpled figure rushing in to save a stranger. There had been no hostility, no anger in General Amaya’s expression when she’d finally seen Janai’s face, the golden markings that proclaimed her military status. Just… acknowledgment. And, Janai thought, with an uncomfortable twinge, something that had almost looked like regret.

She’d spent years thinking of her fellow general as a monster. It had been the only way to survive, during the war. And the dissonance of reconciling her expectations with the reality before her was enough to give Janai a pounding headache.

Janai stared at the ceiling above her for one long moment more, huffed, and stormed off to find Kazi.

A few hastily-questioned staffers directed Janai toward the library, where she found the bespectacled interpreter flipping interestedly through what looked like an atlas. Janai cleared her throat, and Kazi glanced up, eyes widening.

“I have a request,” she said, and Kazi squared their shoulders, nodding seriously. “I’m afraid I may have inadvertently offended General Amaya, and I don’t wish this to become a further issue, especially during the summit.” She cleared her throat again. “I’d like to make an apology, of sorts. In her own language. But I remember almost nothing from the classes I took in elementary school.”

“Oh, those won’t be much help, ser,” Kazi said, growing more animated as they spoke. “General Amaya uses Katolis Sign Language, you would have learned Xadian Sign Language. They’re very different languages, you know, though they do share some linguistic similarities, indicating they may have descended from a common source long ago, and--” They cut themself short, offering Janai a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, what did you want to know?”

“Just… the basics, for the moment,” Janai said. “Greetings, etiquette. Whatever I need to avoid offending her further--I don’t wish to risk a diplomatic incident. I’ll be stationed here for a long while, and if I alienate one of the royal family within my first week, that doesn’t bode well for the rest of my time here.”

Besides, she thought wryly, she needed _something_ productive to do in her off-hours, and learning a new language might actually be engaging enough to hold her attention.

Kazi nodded, gestured to a nearby armchair. “You might want to take a seat,” they said, and as Janai complied, they shifted to face her. “First, you should learn the alphabet....”

###### 

Amaya hit the mat with a sharp puff of expelled air, the impact stinging against her skin. She grinned, tapped twice against the mat, pushed herself up.

“Great job!” she signed, reveling in the proud smile on Soren’s face. She joined in with several of the other students applauding him from the sidelines, shaking her fingers beside her head. It was clear he hadn’t expected to throw her, but she’d had a good feeling about today. The boy had been putting a lot of extra effort in lately, and it was really beginning to show.

“Are you okay?” was his first question, to her surprise. His signing was rudimentary, uncertain, but understandable. Most people didn’t bother learning more sign language once they were out of elementary school, but the regulars at the dojo were certain to pick up at least a few signs from Amaya.

Amaya laughed, exaggerating her signs to make them easier for him to read. “I can fall better than you can throw, kid. Don’t worry.” She reached out, mussed his hair--she actually had to reach _up_ now. He’d hit a growth spurt in the past few months, and she had trouble sometimes adjusting to him abruptly being taller than Callum or Claudia.

It suited him, though. He finally seemed to be getting comfortable with his body, and Amaya liked to think that her lessons had helped, at least a little.

Soren scowled good-naturedly, letting his ‘aunt’ dote on him just a little longer, before settling back into his stance. “Again!” he signed, sloppy but enthusiastic. “I want to see if I can do it again!”

“Once more,” Amaya signed. “Then it’s someone else’s turn.”

Soren looked ready to argue for a moment, but finally nodded--after the first couple of times he’d insisted on preferential treatment ‘since they were basically family’, Amaya had given him a thorough lecture on the dynamics of privilege. He’d apparently taken the lesson well to heart.

His gaze was intent on Amaya as she lunged toward him, grabbing for his upper arms. He smacked one of her arms aside, twisted under the other. Ducked low and got his shoulder under her hip and _shoved_. Amaya found herself falling backward again, and angled herself to spread the impact across her body, the slap of the mat oddly soothing. Here in the dojo, she didn’t have to worry about diplomacy and appearances and cultural misunderstandings. She only needed to worry about her own strength, the knowledge of years locked into her muscle memory. About bringing out the best in her students, teaching them how to keep themselves--and those they loved--safe.

Amaya applauded again, fingers fluttering against the mat, and laughed as Soren pumped his fist in the air. He reached down, tugged her upright, then startled her with a hug; she wrapped her arm around his ribs, squeezing until he pulled away at last and headed back to sit at the edge of the room.

Still smiling, Amaya beckoned the next student up, preparing to hit the mat again. Farai was a good six inches shorter than Amaya, but xe was determined and ridiculously quick. It wouldn’t be long before xe would outgrow Amaya’s Friday class.

For a fleeting moment, Amaya imagined challenging the kid to a spar. It had been so long since she’d fought against someone who could actually keep up with her. Not since Sarai....

She shoved the thought from her mind, refocusing on the task at hand. It still hurt to think about her sister, even now, years later. She’d never really got the chance to mourn during the war, and afterward… it had felt too late, somehow.

It was better this way, she thought, as she fell to the ground. Every day she came here, it was like a monument to Sarai’s life. The legacy she’d left behind. Rebuilding things, instead of wallowing in grief.

...Would it ever be possible for Amaya to think of the war in much the same way?

She pushed herself up, patted Farai on the back, signed something encouraging. Beckoned the next student forward. Ahmad was enthusiastic but sloppy; she needed to focus, so she could correct him whenever he stepped too far, swung too wide. Her concerns about the peace summit could come later. They had no place here.

Amaya recentered her mind, sinking back into the focus of the dojo, and continued her instructions.

She got so caught up in the movement, the ebb and flow of the drills, that she was almost startled when the door to the street opened to admit the first of the parents picking up students. She finished her last set, bowed to the kids, and reminded them that her schedule might be upended for the next week.

Then she settled against the wall with a bottle of water and her cellphone, starting the familiar mental countdown that would end with her first text to Viren. Fridays were the worst--she liked to be home by sundown, and this early in the year, sundown came far too soon for this nonsense.

Well, if nothing else, she could invite Soren to her apartment for supper, break out the silver and the nice candles. Maybe even pick up some challah from the nearby bakery. It’d been too long since she’d had family over on Friday nights.

The door opened then, and she glanced up in astonishment--Viren was less than ten minutes late this time. He looked just as out of place as usual, though, with his tailored suit and his permanently absentminded expression.

Soren strode toward him, beaming, talking so quickly that Amaya could read only scattered consonants--no doubt telling his father about how he’d thrown Amaya. The man scarcely seemed to notice, nodding faintly and mouthing something vaguely complimentary, but even this small concession made Soren light up.

The kid deserved better, Amaya thought, trying not to seethe at just how little Viren seemed to care about his son.

Her thoughts were interrupted, though, as her phone buzzed. Four short bursts, with a bright green light. Her pulse immediately picked up, and she tapped on the message, hoping Harrow wasn’t about to add to her long list of worries this week.

She let out a long, calming breath as she read his text. “Did everything go all right at the embassy this afternoon?”

“Not bad,” she responded, grimacing at the inadequacy of the reply--but if she couldn’t even articulate all her feelings to herself, she definitely couldn’t text them to Harrow. “I don’t think General Janai likes me very much, but that’s not surprising.” She frowned at the screen for a moment longer, then added, “The Xadians’ new interpreter is cute, though. I made plans to spend some time with them next Monday. Thought you might approve.”

Amaya could all but see his relieved smile. “That’s good to hear. I’m still sorry I had to ask you to work alongside the General, but I wouldn’t have done so if I didn’t know you could handle it.”

Her phone buzzed again--three short bursts, one long, with a purple light. She raised an eyebrow, glanced up to see Viren standing next to her. Rolling her eyes, she pulled up the text message. Viren was all but family--or at least Harrow considered him family, and Amaya had long since adopted his children as bonus niblings--and yet he’d never bothered to learn how to say anything more than ‘hello’ in sign language. He always had something ‘more important’ to do with his time.

“Thank you for always looking after Soren,” she read, and resisted the urge to glare at the man. “I notice that your phone is very old. Could it be that your texts don’t always reach me? That could explain why I sometimes don’t get your notifications when class is over.”

Class was over the same time every week. He should _know_ that by now. Amaya grimaced--Viren probably just hadn’t bothered to enter any of Soren’s events into his calendar. They would take away space from Claudia’s science fairs and programming tournaments, after all.

Still, she didn’t have the energy to argue with the man tonight. “That could be it,” she allowed, texting him back. “I’ll have to set up another reminder, just to make sure.” _And you’ll ignore it, just like the rest,_ she held herself back from adding. Barely.

She dropped Viren from her attention then, turning back to Soren. “Keep practicing, Soren,” she told him, and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “This time next year, I might be able to retire, just have you teach the class.”

Soren laughed, his eyes bright. “Thanks, Aunt Amaya,” he signed. “See you next week!”

Amaya waved goodbye, maintaining her bright expression until they’d left the dojo. Then she slumped at last, packing up the room and fighting back a yawn. Today had been _exhausting_. And tomorrow would be no better--a persistent notification sat at the top of her phone screen, displaying the time of her next alarm. Tomorrow at noon, she was supposed to meet General Janai and take her on a tour of the city.

She would almost rather deal with Viren again.


	3. The Town That You Live In

Janai sat at a corner table in a busy Katolis cafe, people-watching and trying not to attract attention. She glanced at her phone every few minutes, tapping an impatient foot; it wasn’t General Amaya’s fault Janai had shown up early, but the wait still nagged at her.

It was strange, she mused, forcing herself to set the phone face-down on the table. She’d heard horror stories about Katolis, about its people. And yet, save for the smells, she might just as well have been in a Xadian cafe. The same bustle, the same sounds. _Our two countries are more alike than we want to admit,_ she thought, the thought making her heart feel odd and heavy.

The bell above the door chimed, and she jumped, snapping her gaze to the shop’s entrance. A pale, middle-aged blond person stepped through, already making a beeline toward the counter, and Janai slumped back in her chair. She should check her email. Flip through her schedule. Download a stupid game to pass the time. Anything other than sitting here, fretting about having to spend time with a woman whose intentions were still unclear, who left Janai feeling confused and upset.

 _Hello,_ she thought, replaying the motion in her head. Hoping that this small gesture would be enough to make up for her rudeness in the alley, would keep today from being quite as awkward and uncomfortable as yesterday had been. _It’s nice to see you again._

She’d practiced long into the night, between emails and queries and files, feeling foolish all the while. The signs were simple, but so unfamiliar to a body used to the practiced motions of sparring. She had a tendency to draw her signs too sharply, according to Kazi, and it was more trouble than she’d anticipated to soften her movements.

The bell chimed again. A dark-skinned, dark-haired person in a suit, arm crutches clicking faintly as they strode into the shop. Janai sighed, wishing she’d ordered a drink at the counter, just so she had something to do with her hands. Stared out the window, watching someone push a stroller down the sidewalk while three laughing children ran past.

She’d been to some of the towns near the border, on both sides. The scars still lingered there, cut into the earth, etched into the buildings. But here, she was so far removed from the battlefield that the war might never have happened. The people here seemed so innocent, so carefree.

Over the years, Janai had grown used to frightened faces and slumped shoulders. She’d stopped noticing them long ago. And she’d become uncomfortably aware that she now expected something bad to happen whenever she saw people smiling, as though the universe couldn’t allow people to actually be… happy. Unworried.

Another chime. Janai glanced up, lost in thought. Two people this time: one a pale, freckled redhead, the other--

Janai’s eyes widened. The other was _gorgeous_ , lithe and compact, sleeveless denim shirt displaying toned arms that could probably lift Janai without effort. Scuffed, faded jeans clung to muscular calves, and a checked jacket was tied jauntily around the person’s waist, hanging just low enough to leave a sliver of skin visible at the small of their back. A tousled sweep of dark hair brushed against one ear as they touched their companion’s arm, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Then they turned, scanning the shop, and General Amaya’s deep brown eyes lit with recognition as her gaze fell on Janai.

Janai froze, caught entirely unprepared by the surge of visceral attraction that had swept across her at her first sight of the General in actual civvies. General Amaya had looked so _alive_ in that moment, warm and open and friendly, laughing with the redhead. Now, walking together toward Janai, they both seemed much more reserved--but that single image felt burned into Janai’s mind.

She swallowed hard, recalling General Amaya’s imposing silhouette in her officer’s uniform. Janai could picture the woman, dressed in that same uniform, leaning over a map of Xadia in some distant command tent. Planning, plotting. The General was dangerous. She couldn’t be trusted. Especially not here, in Katolis’ capitol, the heart of her power.

General Amaya stopped before Janai’s table and signed something, quick and confident: she pressed her right palm to her chin, then brought her left hand up to meet her forearm as she turned her palm outward. The redhead watched her hands, looked up at Janai. “Good afternoon,” they interpreted.

The signs were familiar, Janai realized--Kazi had shown them to her yesterday, though General Amaya made them look so casual. So natural. Janai blinked, inhaled sharply, recalling herself to her place. “Hello, it’s nice to see you again,” she signed, trying not to let her fingers shake with unanticipated nerves. She’d promised her sister diplomacy. And after the incident in the alleyway, she was more determined than ever to be the ideal ambassador, even if it meant swallowing her pride.

_If this peace accord fails, it will not be because of me._

The General’s eyes lit, and she signed something else. “Have you studied KSL?” the interpreter said. No, the _General_ said, Janai thought, recalling Kazi’s instructions. She should look at and speak to General Amaya, not to her interpreter. The interpreter was merely her voice--the words were General Amaya’s.

Janai shook her head, a beat too late. “I know only a little,” she confessed, not willing to admit that she’d begun learning only yesterday. The interpreter’s hands moved, copying her words, but she was surprised to see that General Amaya paid them no mind. She looked instead at Janai herself, watching her speak. Janai resolved at once to speak carefully, so that the General had an easier time understanding her.

She gestured for the two of them to take a seat across from her, hoping her roiling emotions weren’t as noticeable as they felt. Part of her--a large part--still hated this woman. Hated her personally, hated everything she stood for. Another part of Janai respected the General, and always had, for her skills and her strategies and her commitment to her cause.

And with a distinct twinge of discomfort, Janai now realized that a part of her was _intrigued_ by the woman, by all the different sides to her that Janai had seen in three short days.

She bit back a grimace. Everything about this situation felt so wrong, sideways and upside-down. She was sitting down for a chat with the enemy. Sympathy was dangerous, attraction was a threat. All her instincts were skewed, balanced between wariness and civility, between past grudges and hopes for the future.

“This is Gren,” General Amaya signed as she settled into one of the sturdy cafe chairs. “He’s my best friend.” The interpreter--Gren--snapped finger-guns at the General as he said this, and she flashed him a toothy smile in return. “He’ll be accompanying us this afternoon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Janai said automatically, pressing one palm to her chest and bowing over it.

Gren did the same. He spoke up then, and his voice held an entirely different cadence than it did when he spoke General Amaya’s words. “It’s nice to meet you, too, General. Amaya’s told me a lot about you.”

“Please, let’s dispense with the title,” Janai said politely, raising an eyebrow at Gren’s statement. What did he mean? What could General Amaya have told him, other than ‘she yelled at me in an alleyway and made a fool of herself at lunch and, oh yeah, massacred my troops for years’?

General Amaya’s gaze was keen on Janai’s face. “Have you eaten?” she asked.

Janai nodded. “Before I left the embassy,” she said, omitting the fact that she wasn’t ready to trust Katolian food. To her limited experience, it came in two varieties: so bland as to be almost meaningless, or sweet enough to make Janai’s teeth ache. “I’m ready to set out when you are, General.”

“Amaya,” she said, the corner of her mouth twisting. “We’re not at war any longer. We’re diplomats now.” Something about her signs there felt... uncertain, and Janai found herself leaning imperceptibly closer, intrigued by the catch in Gren’s voice.

Then Amaya tossed her head, shaking the hair from her eyes, and the moment was lost. “I have two itineraries planned,” she said, her motions bold and confident again. “We can take the tourist route, or I can _really_ show you around. It’s your choice.” An odd light shone in her eyes, confrontational. The implication was clear--is this merely an obligation to you? Should I be a glorified tour guide, giving you an Official Katolis Experience?

Or are you willing to take a deeper glimpse at the people you’ve been fighting for years, the true heart of the city beneath the shining veneer of the Embassy block? A look at our customs, our culture, beyond anything your reports and files can tell you?

The offer was a gauntlet tossed down, and Janai had never backed away from a challenge. She tossed her hair, a few of her locs spilling over her shoulders. “I’m no tourist,” she said. The words felt like another challenge as they left her lips, and for a moment she wished to call them back--but a smile twitched the corners of Amaya’s mouth, and Janai knew then that she’d made the right choice.

“The first stop isn’t far, then,” Amaya said, and pushed herself up from the table. Gren moved at the same moment, perfectly in sync with his friend. Janai found herself pulled along in their wake. “Let’s go.”

Amaya turned and strode from the shop, and Janai fell into place beside her.

Janai’s first instinct was to make small talk, awkward though that had been yesterday. She realized quickly, however, that Amaya would have trouble reading her lips while walking, that Gren would need to interpret her meaningless pleasantries and wait for Amaya’s responses. So much effort for something so pointless.

Instead she watched Amaya. Wondered at the sleeveless shirt--Janai still wore her favorite red-and-gold sweater, and still shivered in the chill air. Would she ever grow used to this weather? She followed Amaya’s gaze, catching on storefronts and dogs and interesting passersby. Amaya strode so confidently through these streets, as though she owned them--and, as a member of the royal family, Janai supposed that was true. Still, there was something more than possession in Amaya’s face as she watched the people around them.

Fondness, Janai decided at last. More than that--Amaya obviously loved this city, its inhabitants. For her, this wasn’t just the place she’d drifted to after the war. It was the place she’d chosen to make her home.

Homesickness surged again, for the cool canals and the bright gilded buildings back in Lux Aurea. But… that had always been Khessa’s city, since Janai was almost too young to remember. Cold, impersonal, despite its beauty. Lux Aurea had never loved Janai, no matter what she’d done for it.

She felt a twinge of envy then, watching Amaya. Watching the woman grow more open, more _alive_ , as she moved through her city. Would Janai ever find somewhere that could do the same for her?

If so, it wouldn’t be here, in the place Janai had always known as the beating heart of Xadia’s greatest foe. She shook her head, forcing down her melancholy as Amaya’s steps slowed before a towering brick building.

“This is one of my favorite places in the city,” Amaya signed, and Janai’s attention was caught once again by just how expressive Amaya was, now she wasn’t in the embassy. She’d been so stifled by the oppressive atmosphere. Now, out in the open, where she felt safe, her eyes shone. Her hands danced, wide sweeping gestures and enthusiastic bursts of motion. “Follow me.”

Amaya led the three of them up a set of wide steps, slid open a door and gestured, the motion so grand as to be almost mocking.

Janai followed her in, and her eyes widened as she took in a sharp breath, tasting lemon polish and old paper. She stood in a library, long shelves stuffed with books of every description, dark wood floors shining in the light of the glass dome overhead. Murals stretched along the walls, bright colors in a variety of styles--mosaics, fine art, graffiti. The air was hushed, still, despite the people scattered through the wide main room, flipping through novels or poring over reference texts.

“King Harrow commissioned this library,” Amaya said, Gren’s voice cutting through Janai’s thoughts. She glanced over to see Amaya watching her, more than a little smug at the sight of Janai’s open-mouthed wonder. “A birthday present for his stepson, a place where all of his subjects could come to learn, relax, contemplate.”

“It’s beautiful,” Janai murmured.

Amaya softened, a smile tugging at her lips. “I was a jock as a kid,” she said, and it took a moment for Janai to translate the word. “I didn’t appreciate spaces like this as much as I probably should have. But… the older I get, the nicer it is to have someplace so beautiful, away from the bustle of the rest of my life.” Her smile grew a shade more wry. “It’s not far from the embassy. And they have a lot of cultural events. You might want to check them out sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” Janai said softly, still taking in the space. She recognized few of the scenes from the murals, likely important events in Katolis’ past.

She, too, had spent little time in the palace library back in Lux Aurea. It was a vast, echoing space, just like most of the other palace rooms. And she’d never bothered to search out public libraries after the war, never even considered they might have something to offer her.

What had drawn Amaya to this place, if it had not held her interest from the start? What had she been looking for?

Janai wandered the stacks for a time, Amaya at her side, before recalling that this was but the first stop on Amaya’s planned tour. “Where are we going next?” she asked, turning to Amaya, realizing a moment later that she was actually excited for the tour to continue.

She still didn’t know what to think about Amaya. But she was finding it more and more difficult to reconcile the bloodthirsty reports she’d heard over the years with the woman standing before her, smiling softly as she ran her fingers down the spine of a book.

Amaya, too, seemed to have forgotten what they’d come here for. Her eyes widened, and she glanced aside at the silent Gren, who helpfully repeated Janai’s question. “It’s a bit of a walk,” Amaya signed, and smirked. “Hope you wore comfortable shoes.”

She beckoned Janai casually into step behind her, her fingers fluttering toward Gren. They held a rapid discussion, and Gren nodded, glancing curiously toward Janai.

Quashing the flicker of apprehension that rose in her from this mysterious action, Janai followed Amaya and Gren from the beautiful building.

They hadn’t spent long in the library, but the light and sound of the outside world was still enough to startle Janai, such a contrast from the soft tranquility. She blinked, shaking her head to clear it, and followed Amaya and Gren down the sidewalk.

Amaya pointed out a few more overtly tourist-centered areas as they walked, telling Janai of their cultural and historical significance, though she didn’t linger overlong at any of them. An old stone cottage set back from the road, surrounded incongruously by tall modern buildings. A plaque beside the sidewalk denoted it as ‘the birthplace of the Orphan Queen’, and Amaya gave a quick overview of the story of Katolis’ founder as they passed it by.

A small park with a busy playground, bright flowers planted around a bronze statue of a warrior on horseback, some other distant ancestor of the King. Janai stopped for a moment to recite a few of the flowers’ scientific names, gleaned from conversations with her brother. The look Amaya cast her then was surprised but pleased, and Janai couldn’t help but be warmed by the woman’s approval.

A grassy hill on a quiet street corner, bordered by a wall covered in names, for which Amaya offered no explanation. She simply stood before it for a long moment, head bowed. Brushed her fingers across a few of the names before leading Janai away. 

Janai couldn’t help but cast a troubled glance back at the... memorial, she was certain. Amaya’s reticence confused Janai more than anything. She would have expected her fellow general to make more of a spectacle out of such a reminder of what Janai had done, all that she’d wrought for Xadia's sake. 

At times, during interminable solemn ceremonies back in Lux Aurea, Janai had imagined similar scenarios. Imagined dragging Katolis’ leaders through military cemeteries, relaying heated stories about lives and families destroyed.

But Amaya, it seemed, was determined to undermine all of Janai’s expectations.

Their path turned then, leaving the quieter neighborhoods behind and heading back into the downtown area. Amaya walked faster now, no longer watching her surroundings with such interest. Janai was surprised to realize she missed their unhurried pace, the opportunity to take in the feel of the city around them.

Still, she appreciated the practicality of this haste. She had duties back at the embassy; this outing, oddly intriguing though it was, could not last forever. She lengthened her own stride, keeping pace with Amaya as the woman wove expertly through the city streets.

At last, Amaya led them off the sidewalk, toward a wide two-story building lined with windows. Janai glanced up at the sign above the door, and her eyes widened. ‘Deaf Community Center’ was printed there in bold block letters.

The doors slid open to reveal a reception desk in the center of an open room, the walls painted a soft shade of blue. Comfortable seating had been placed around the edges, and wide doorways led off to smaller rooms with long tables or low desks. The receptionist, an older person with short salt-and-pepper hair, beamed at the sight of Amaya, signing something to her without hesitation. Amaya, laughing, signed back, her motions so rapid and fluid that Janai could scarcely tell one from the next.

She would have expected the space to be silent. But no--a couple in the corner spoke as they signed, though she couldn’t make out the conversation. Low bass rumbled from one of the side rooms, a person within tapping their toes to the beat. The receptionist’s laugh was audible, though Amaya’s was not.

Janai hesitated, not quite willing to follow Amaya in, and realized that Gren had also remained behind. “Did she bring me here for a specific reason?” Janai asked quietly, watching Amaya move through the room, greeting people as she passed. “I don’t wish to intrude....”

Gren nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I get that--it’s her space,” he said, just as quiet, though his hands moved while he spoke. He glanced aside at Janai. “There’s been a lot of talk around the palace about your appointment. About what it means that you’d be willing to do this, even after the war.” He smiled, guileless. “For the most part, we’re cautiously optimistic. King Harrow personally asked Amaya to show you around. He wants you to understand Katolis. But Amaya....”

He looked up, watched Amaya for a moment longer, shook his head. “Amaya wants you to understand _her_ , too. She’s been trying to understand you for years. I’ve known her since I was in boot camp. You always frustrated her, ever since your first skirmish against each other. I don’t think even she realizes how much.”

Janai nodded, slowly. She’d never before admitted it, even to herself, but--at times, she’d felt much the same. Intrigued by her opposite number, even while she’d cursed Amaya’s name. Wondering, in the moments before she fell asleep, whether they might have been friends in a better life--another woman just as ambitious, just as determined as Janai. Strong, brave. Honorable in battle, even as the war raged on.

She looked up again, her gaze pulled toward Amaya as though she was a compass and Amaya was north. She’d thought Amaya had seemed open, seemed _alive_ , when speaking to Gren in the doorway of the cafe. That feeling was amplified tenfold here, watching Amaya move at last through a world that had been created for her. Amaya all but glowed as she stopped to speak with her friends, no barriers in the way of their understanding. She put her entire body into the words, nuance of tone delivered through the tilt of her eyebrows or the quirk of her mouth, the set of her shoulders or a shift in her stance. It was… beautiful, seeing her like this.

Janai inhaled sharply, let out a trembling breath, had to glance away. She’d been dreading this excursion for days... but now, she felt as though she would be content to watch Amaya for hours, and that scared her. She was letting her guard down entirely, slipping into complacency, and she wasn’t even sure she regretted it.

Reflexively, she called up memories of the war--waking to news of Katolis taking out another outpost, rushing in too late to save a squad of soldiers. But... _why_? Just as Amaya had said back in the cafe, the war was over. The atrocities were behind them now--not forgotten, not even necessarily forgiven, but no longer holding such a grip on their actions. Their hearts.

And... how many mornings must Amaya have woken to that same bad news? How many times had Amaya run toward a long-cold battlefield, feet pounding the dry earth, knowing that no matter how fast she ran, she would still be too late?

The thought made Janai feel ill. The thought that the two of them, even their two nations, were truly so similar. That every skirmish, every attack, had been such a monumental waste of time and effort and lives. Lives that might have been saved, if they’d only been willing to acknowledge their superficial differences instead of lashing out against them.

Motion caught Janai’s eye, and she looked up to see Amaya had returned. “I come here on Monday nights,” she said, and now that Janai had seen her in her element, she could tell that Amaya signed slower when speaking to Janai. The better for Janai to understand, if she could only begin to learn. “I invited Kazi to join me next week. You could come too, if you’d like.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” Janai said, her mouth dry. Hoping the intensity in her gaze would tell Amaya that this was no flippant dismissal, that Janai truly didn’t know whether she would be able to, but that somehow, she _wanted_ to.

Amaya’s smile brightened at even this small concession, and Janai shivered, trying to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the sight.

“I have one more place I’d like to show you, if you’re up to it,” Amaya said.

This, at least, was easy. Janai wouldn’t cut this excursion short for worlds. “Lead the way,” she said, and caught her breath at the light in Amaya’s face.

The air outside the community center had grown warm as the day stretched into late afternoon. Warm enough for Janai to regret her sweater, for the first time since she’d come to Katolis. If they had to walk much farther, she might even consider removing it, she thought, falling into step beside Amaya with comfortable ease. She had no idea what else Amaya might have to show to her, but by now, she was eager to learn.

“Do you always walk everywhere?” Janai found herself asking, the next time Amaya glanced her way. She’d been speaking only when spoken to, she was realizing now. It wasn’t polite to make Amaya shoulder the brunt of the conversation. And small talk didn’t seem so useless, somehow, when Amaya was the one initiating it.

“When I can,” Amaya signed, turning to walk backward so Janai could see her better. “I like the exercise. And I like getting out, seeing people. What about you?”

Janai shook her head. “My sister doesn’t like me to,” she said, flushing at how childish that sounded. “She doesn’t feel it’s safe for one of the royal family to wander the streets unescorted.”

Amaya laughed, her eyes sparkling. “King Harrow feels much the same,” she admitted. “But I put my foot down, long ago. I’m not technically royalty, though--I suppose it might be different for you, as Princess.”

“I am heir presumptive, yes,” Janai confirmed. “More of a target for dissidents and discontent. She didn’t like the thought of me taking this post, either, but the Council convinced her that I would do more good here than I would at home.” In fact, they’d had to convince _Janai_ of that, as well. And she still didn’t quite believe them, though the idea certainly held more appeal today than it had last week.

Gren tapped Amaya’s shoulder then, and she glanced up, nodded. Janai followed their gaze--they were approaching a wide brick arch, ‘Katolis Community College’ emblazoned overhead in fancy lettering.

“King Harrow’s grandmother founded this school,” Amaya said, gesturing across the wide, grassy campus quad, the tall brick buildings spaced around its edges. “There are more specialized colleges elsewhere, but she wanted a place where all her subjects could get an education, learn a trade or profession. Arts, music, drama--the murals at the library were all created by students here.”

“It’s larger than I would have expected,” Janai mused, watching students walk along the paths or lounge under trees. “My brother’s academy is much smaller, more intimate. But if he wants to learn anything outside their limited curriculum, he has to hire tutors. It must be nice, to have things so centralized.”

Amaya glanced fondly at one of the buildings, halfway across the quad. “It is,” she said. “I teach here on weekdays, actually. One of the first things I did after the war was to finally go to college, get my teaching certificate. I needed something to do with myself that was... constructive.”

 _That_ was certainly a sentiment Janai could understand. “Do you teach sign language, then?” she asked.

Amaya stopped walking, her mouth twisting wryly. “Military history and martial arts,” she signed, and though Gren’s tone remained mild, censure bled into Amaya’s movements. “I’m terrible at teaching grammar. Gren’s a far better sign language instructor than I am.”

Janai’s cheeks burned--what kind of a foolish question had that been? She should know by now that Amaya was more than just her language. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing away from Amaya. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Amaya nodded, acknowledging the apology, and set off again. She led Janai through the grounds, signing hello to students as she passed. _She’s such a part of the community here,_ Janai thought, watching people smile when they saw Amaya. _I never bothered to do anything like this, back at home. Maybe that’s why I never felt like I fit in--I didn’t actually_ try _to._

“Our last stop is just over here,” Amaya signed, her expression shifting to something almost... wary. Searching. Janai frowned, anticipation biting at her as she followed Amaya’s beckoning hand.

They walked along a winding concrete path, weaving around decorative bushes and flowerbeds, and Amaya came to a stop at last at the foot of a marble statue on a high plinth. Janai glanced up at the statue, looked aside at Amaya, about to ask why they’d halted here.

Her voice dried up as she saw the look on Amaya’s face, pain limning her features. Amaya drew a deep breath, signed something soft and sad toward the statue.

Janai turned back, studying the marble figure. The statue was of a woman, gazing up toward the sky with a hopeful expression. She wore a crisply pressed suit, its folds carved so realistically that Janai almost thought the lapels might flap in a stiff breeze. In one hand she clutched a book, the other resting on the hilt of a ceremonial blade, and a crown nestled in her braided hair with the bright gleam of gold.

Her features were soft, friendly, open… and familiar.

Janai’s gaze fell at last on the plaque at the statue’s base. “In loving memory of Queen Sarai,” it read. “She lives on in our hearts.” Two dates followed, the first of them not quite thirty years before the second, only nine years gone.

A memory flickered within Janai, dulled by the passage of years. She hadn’t been long out of boot camp when they’d got word that the queen of Katolis had been killed, though the details had been scattered and unreliable. Still, there had been scathing rumors even then that Xadia had been somehow involved, that retaliation for some slight or another had gotten out of hand and she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Janai could still remember railing against these accusations, nebulous though their origin had been. She recalled, with a flush of shame, grasping at anything that might prove Xadia blameless. Accusing Katolis of carelessness, of incompetence. Dark hints that Sarai had been slain by her own people for some nefarious end.

And Janai hadn’t been alone in her assertions. Tensions had risen between the two countries, already at odds over resource management on their shared border. Tensions spurred onward by a grieving King Harrow, a defensive Queen Khessa. Neither side willing to give in, to lose face and apologize.

The war had begun in earnest not six months later.

Janai had known, of course, that her greatest opponent had been the queen’s sister. But that fact had never had anything to do with Janai. Her job had been action, reaction. The intricacies of Katolis’ royal family had no bearing on the immediacy of the war, combat and sabotage and covert missions.

She’d scarcely given the matter a second thought until this moment, until she saw the woman she was growing to respect so lost in silent grief.

Even now, Janai couldn’t help but resent Queen Sarai. Irrational though it might be, she didn’t know if she could ever forgive the woman whose death had sent Janai’s life, her country, her _own_ family into such a destructive spiral.

And yet....

And yet, Janai remained still and silent, heart aching in unanticipated sympathy. Staring up at the face of a dead queen and thinking about all that had been taken from them both. From them all.

Amaya stirred at last. Blinked, breathed in deep. Turned to look at Janai, her expression closed once more. Cautious, almost troubled.

“What was she like?” Janai asked, wishing she knew enough to ask the question with her hands. Speaking aloud felt so jarringly loud, echoing in her own ears.

Amaya sucked in a sharp breath, catching Janai’s gaze with such open vulnerability that Janai almost took a step back. This was why Amaya had been so wary of bringing her here, Janai realized. Amaya had been worried about what Janai might say, faced with such a tangible symbol of the rift between their people.

With trembling fingers, Amaya gestured toward the base of the statue, and all three of them took a seat there before she answered Janai. “She was my world,” Amaya signed, Gren’s voice soft in the warm air. “Compassionate and kind, warm and bright. She railed against injustice. Even as a child, she tried to make sure everyone had equal opportunities. She was a born leader, a patient teacher. A loving mother.”

 _That’s right--the princes,_ Janai thought, recalling Amaya’s fond words about her nephew. She’d never before thought about the fact that Queen Sarai had left behind more than a husband, more than a sister.

Janai’s own parents had been killed in an accident. No one’s fault. But she’d still sought someone to blame, for years. What must Sarai’s children think of the country that had, in a way, stolen her from them?

Amaya tipped her head back, gazing up at the unseeing form of the sister she’d obviously adored. “We were both military brats. And she was a natural fighter, proficient with any weapon, any martial art she tried. I dreamed about following her into the army since we were kids. She was so proud when I made it through boot camp, top of my class. She always believed in me.”

Janai bit her lip, breathing deep, fingers tightening on the stone beside her. Khessa had been there for her, just like that, once upon a time. Before the mantle of queenship had been thrust upon Khessa, before her duties had torn her away from the little sister who still looked up to her so desperately.

“She stayed in the army after her first marriage, even once she’d had her first child,” Amaya continued, her expression distant. “But she took leave when her husband died… and that was when she met Harrow. She didn’t care that he was a prince, just that he was kind. And he loved her so much, it just shone out of him.”

Her mouth twisted. “She could have been the best queen Katolis ever had. She was so patient, so clever. And then… not a year into her reign, she got caught up in a protest. Rushed in to help when someone got injured. And just like that, she was gone.”

“I’m sorry” felt so inadequate, but it was all Janai had.

“Sarai would have done anything she could have to stop the war,” Amaya signed, looking… lost. “A part of me always thought I should have done the same, in her stead. But I did what I thought was best for Katolis at the time. Now… I don’t know.”

She turned her gaze on Janai then, so intent, so earnest. “She had a saying,” Amaya signed. “What is done, cannot be undone. I can’t take back any of the things I did during the war. Neither of us can. But… we can move on from them, if we truly want to.”

 _I want to,_ Janai thought at once, startling herself with her own vehemence. She was so _tired_ of death. Of pain. Of regret. 

Her fingers came up, fumbling and slow, copying signs Kazi had shown her the previous night. She didn’t know if they were in the right order, or even quite the right signs, but she put all the sincerity she could muster into them.

“I’d like that, too.”

Amaya’s smile didn’t quite touch the sadness that lingered in her eyes, but it still lit her face. Janai let out a long breath, aching with something that didn’t quite feel like homesickness, though she couldn’t put a word to the emotion.

The soft buzz of a cellphone set to vibrate sounded then, and Amaya shifted, pulling an ancient brick of a phone from the pocket of her jeans. She frowned at it, then looked up with something Janai thought might be regret. “It’s getting late,” Amaya signed, shoving the phone back into her pocket and standing, brushing dirt from her jeans. “And I know you’ve got duties to attend to.”

She turned toward Janai, reached down to pull her up. Amaya’s expression was hesitant, almost unsure, so far removed from anything Janai might have expected that it brought her up short. “But... do you want to go get lunch?” Amaya asked.

If the question had come even two hours before, Janai thought she might have made convenient excuses, pled diplomatic duties and fled back to the sterile familiarity of her embassy room. Now, though, she smiled. “I’m buying,” she said, and the laughter in Amaya’s eyes warmed her heart.

Amaya beckoned her onward, taking a shortcut around the backs of buildings on campus and out to the street proper. “My dojo is this way,” she signed, gesturing farther down the street. “I teach martial arts and self-defense, then patrol the streets on my way home. I was on patrol when I ran into you that night.”

Janai offered her an embarrassed, apologetic smile. “I thought you were ignoring me because of the markings,” she said. “And then I figured you were a vigilante. I… I made a lot of assumptions. I was determined to hate this city, and everything in it.”

“And now?” Amaya asked, her gaze shrewd. Knowing. It might be annoying, if Janai hadn’t seen today how naturally expressive the woman was, how much she’d been hiding herself at the embassy.

Janai dared to cuff her on the shoulder, gently, telegraphing the motion. “And now... I think I could get used to Katolis. Eventually.”

Amaya’s shoulders shook with laughter, and she picked up the pace, leading Janai onward. They slowed at last before a bright storefront, enticing displays of pastries visible through the window. “I like to come here after class,” Amaya signed, and slid the door open, releasing a wave of sugar-scented air.

Regret tugging at her, Janai hung back. “I… don’t like most sweets,” she said. “They’re so… _much_.”

Amaya lifted one eyebrow. “I have the perfect thing for you, then. Come in.”

The cashier at the counter flashed an excited grin as the three of them stepped in, signing something to Amaya before turning back to the customer they were ringing up. Amaya slipped into line, gesturing Janai and Gren to take a seat at one of the little tables lining the walls. Janai began to protest about not being allowed to pay, but Amaya winked at her and turned away, deliberately ignoring the complaint.

“Everyone loves her here, don’t they?” Janai asked quietly, settling reluctantly into her chair and watching the cashier pack pastries into a folding cardboard box.

“I wouldn’t say ‘everyone’,” Gren said, and Janai glanced sharply aside at the troubled note in his voice. “But... yeah. She’s made a real community for herself in the past few years. It was good to see--I was worried about her, for months, before she found her footing again. Once she realized that she _could_ have a life that was more than just… death.”

Janai watched Amaya step forward, signing her order to the cashier. Watched the two of them smile together, a momentary interaction out of hundreds in a day, but Amaya seemed to have a way of making every conversation really mean something.

That same emotion from the college campus rose in her again, and this time Janai thought she recognized it. _Longing._

Could Janai have that, too? If she could let go of her bitterness, her regrets, the hate she still carried deep in her heart? Could she, too, begin to rebuild--to find a place that was truly hers, that she could finally call home?

She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if she could manage to let go. But she longed to, so much that it hurt.

Amaya made her way toward their table then, expressive hands laden with baked goods. She set a strawberry-topped cake before Gren with a knowing smile, then sat beside Janai, placing a plate between them. It held half a dozen triangular tarts, pastry folded around a thick, dark filling.

She gestured, and Janai needed no translation. _Dig in._

Janai lifted one of the pastries, took an apprehensive bite. Her eyes widened. The dough was flavored with bright citrus, but not overly sweet, even with the honey of the filling heavy on her tongue. “It’s good!” she said, and blushed with the realization of how surprised she sounded.

“This bakery makes the best hamantaschen in the city,” Amaya signed, grinning at Janai with crumbs stuck to her cheek, so endearing that Janai couldn’t help but smile back. “They have a dozen different flavors--persimmon, strawberry--but I like the honey and poppyseed.” Her smile softened. “They were always Sarai’s favorites. I take a few to her statue sometimes, leave them there as a remembrance.”

“Oh… that’s lovely,” Janai said softly, licking crumbs from her fingertips. “Here, you’ve got--”

She reached out, unthinking, brushed against Amaya’s cheek to dislodge the crumbs there. Pulled her hand back as though she’d been scorched, catching Amaya’s gaze with her own wide eyes.

Amaya glanced at Janai’s hand, then met her gaze again. Amaya’s breath caught with whatever she saw there, and she reached out, slow, deliberate. A question in her eyes, a question which Janai didn’t know the answer to--but she wanted to know.

Janai’s head tipped forward just a fraction in unthinking assent. She felt paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch, but _feel_ , as Amaya brushed her own thumb carefully against Janai’s cheek, wiping it clean.

The shock of the contact hit Janai like electricity. It had been a long time, far too long, since an attractive woman had touched her like that. The little bakery suddenly felt painfully warm, and it took all of Janai’s self-control to keep her breathing steady. To keep from springing to her feet and fleeing the shop, avoiding the possibility of awkward questions.

Instead she tore her gaze from Amaya’s, reached for her cellphone. “I should get going,” she said, the words hurried, and almost forgot to make certain she was facing Amaya. “I still have a lot of work waiting for me at the embassy. Can... can I get your number, so we can make plans for next week?”

Amaya frowned thoughtfully, though her lips twitched upward as she glanced at Janai’s face, the flustered expression Janai knew she still wore. “Here, put your number into my phone,” Amaya signed, handing over the clunky little cellphone Janai had seen earlier. “I need to program you as a contact.”

 _Oh--that makes sense._ The format of the phone was familiar--Janai had owned one much like it, years ago, though she’d long since upgraded. She navigated through with the keypad, tapping in her own number. “Why do you have this phone?” she asked absently, then glanced up. “If that’s not too personal--”

Amaya shook her head. “I just prefer the layout,” she signed. “I like having a physical keyboard. It’s easy to set vibration tones and lights for everyone. And I’m very hard on my devices,” she said, grinning wide. “It’s nice to have something that I know won’t shatter if I accidentally drop it out a second-story window--or tackle a mugger with it in my pocket.”

Janai laughed, saving the contact and handing the phone back over. “I need to leave, but I’ll see you later. Maybe... maybe on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” Amaya signed.

Janai nodded, stood, turned to leave. Turned back, picked up two of the tarts and took a bite out of one, Gren’s laughter in her ears as she left the shop.

Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out, smiled at the message on her screen. “I had fun today,” it read, from an ‘unknown number’ that Janai immediately long-pressed to save. “Maybe next time I’ll let you pay.”

Laughing, Janai started back toward the embassy. The air around her was growing cooler as the shadows stretched long, but she could still feel the warmth of Amaya’s fingers on her cheek.

“I look forward to it,” she texted back.


	4. Familiarity

Gren descended upon Amaya the moment the door closed behind Janai, his shortcake all but forgotten. “You were _flirting_!” he signed, his eyes wide, his mouth falling comically open.

Amaya blinked, startled, and she thought back through their conversation. Oh. _That._ Well, it would be foolish to deny it now. “I didn’t intend to,” she signed back, taking another bite of hamantasch. “It just sort of... happened.”

A lot of this day had ‘just sort of happened’. Her itinerary had been nothing more than a fleeting fancy until she’d actually stepped into the cafe. Until she’d seen Janai sitting there, open and unassuming, shaky apologies on her fingers. Amaya had the sudden desire then to throw the tourist garbage out the window, to see how well the Golden Knight kept up with the intricacies of Amaya’s life here, carefully built over the space of years.

She’d done admirably, as it turned out, rising to Amaya’s every challenge, and Amaya couldn’t deny that she’d been attracted by Janai’s honesty. By how readily she’d followed Amaya, despite the past that still lingered heavy between them.

...No. By the end, Janai hadn’t been following. They’d been walking side by side, as equals, just as they’d been all along during the war. Whenever Amaya had gained ground, she’d lost something of equal value. A stalemate stretching on for years, until both sides had grown sick of the cost.

What might things have been like, she mused, if they’d met under better circumstances? If they’d gotten the chance to know each other without the baggage of years weighing them down?

They probably would have hated each other, in truth. They were too similar. Destined, perhaps, to be rivals.

But... if destiny had a hand in any of this, then what might it mean that they’d been thrown together, after all this time?

Amaya shook herself, turning her attention back to the tarts. She was getting ridiculous. It was nice, at least, that they’d managed to work out some of their misunderstandings. The summit would go much smoother without the two of them at each other’s throats. And that was what Katolis needed: careful, casual complacency. If their two countries couldn’t work together in the end, then apathy would serve just as well to keep the war from resurging.

She grimaced, taking an aggressive bite of pastry. She _hated_ apathy. She was a woman of action--and, if she was being honest with herself, the ‘action’ she wanted right now was to pin General Janai to the wall of the bakery and see where things went from there.

But if there was a more inconvenient time to find herself with a crush, or a more inconvenient person to find herself having a crush _on_ , Amaya couldn’t think of them.

Someone tapped her shoulder. She jumped, turned to see Viren standing before her, an apologetic smile pasted on his face. Amaya quickly schooled her own expression, trying not to let him see just how much she didn’t want to talk to him right now.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” he said, smiling down at Amaya. “I wanted to apologize again, for the other day.” He held out a box, and Amaya took it without thinking, furrowing her brow at its weight. Frowned at the picture on the box, the enthusiastic bullet points detailing features. A cellphone?

She glanced up at Viren, the hopefulness in his eyes. “Thank you,” she signed automatically, resolving to give the phone to Callum when she saw him next. He’d appreciate the shiny thing far more than she would. “I appreciate the gesture.”

It _was_ a nice gesture, misguided though it was--as were many of Viren’s actions. But it made her uncomfortable to accept a gift, especially one this expensive, from someone she often couldn’t stand the sight of. She trusted, though, that Gren would make her gratitude sound suitably sincere, reluctant though her signs might be.

Viren glanced deliberately at his watch then, shook his head. “I should be going,” he said. “I’ve much to do tonight. I trust Soren will be at your class next week as well?”

Soren hadn’t missed one of Amaya’s classes since he’d had food poisoning two years ago. “If my diplomatic duties don’t interfere with my class schedule,” she signed. The image of Janai’s expressive, gold-lined face flashed through her mind, and she hid a smile. “I’ll keep him updated.”

“Ah, yes,” Viren said, his expression darkening faintly. “The summit.” He shook his head. “Harrow has been working himself ragged with planning. It’s good to hear you’re helping ease some of his burdens.”

Amaya wondered, for a moment, whether _Viren_ was doing anything to help Harrow, but shook the thought from her mind. It wasn’t fair to expect the world of him, even if she did of herself. Viren hadn’t been there, on the battlefield. He’d seen entirely different sides to the war than Amaya had--the sniping words and backroom deals of the political side of things, removed from the immediacy of combat. He probably still saw his actions as justified, and she couldn’t fault him for that.

And he had his own life, had children to care for, even if he didn’t seem to be doing the best job of _that_ , either.

To her relief, Viren offered her another half-smile and took his leave, striding out of the little bakery without a backward glance. Amaya sighed, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension building there, and leaned back in her chair. Took a too-large bite of hamantasch and struggled not to cough.

She shook her head to clear it while she chewed. She’d been thinking about far nicer things than Viren just a few minutes ago, and she didn’t want to allow him any more real estate in her mind than he was already taking up.

“Do you want to come over and play board games?” she asked Gren idly, swallowing hard. She should probably start reviewing the docket Harrow’s secretary had sent by courier that morning, but she wouldn’t get very far until she’d relaxed some. And... she could use some nice platonic intimacy, to chase away the remembered softness of Janai’s skin.

Gren licked a smudge of whipped cream from one finger, grinned. “As you command, General,” he signed, snapping a messy salute that made Amaya choke with laughter. He scraped his fork over the plate, licked the last crumbs from it, and picked up Amaya’s plate as well--she’d hardly noticed she had finished the last of her tarts, too caught up in thought.

Amaya watched him bus the dishes, something nagging at her mind. She unfocused her gaze, nudging at the thought until it fell in place at last.

She hadn’t planned to be here. She didn’t have classes on Saturdays, usually spent them at home in quiet meditation.

So why, she wondered, as they gathered their things and left the shop, had Viren known to meet her at the bakery?

The thought ate at her all the long walk home.

###### 

Janai had scarcely stepped through the embassy doors before three separate people rushed her, a maelstrom of frustration. She had to fight the urge to turn and head back to the sidewalk outside. Two of the staffers started talking at once, glanced quickly at rank insignia, and the lower-ranked one bowed out. “Thank the Light you’re back, General,” said the remaining staffer, sounding desperately relieved.

“What’s wrong?” Janai asked at once, wishing she were more appropriately dressed for a crisis.

“It’s a disaster,” the staffer panted. “We’ve been having scheduling problems all day. Deliveries. Appointments. The antechamber’s half-full of people who’ve been double-booked, and we need your help to sort it out, but we didn’t want to risk angering Katolis by interrupting your time with the General--”

Janai held up one hand, stemming the flow. “Take a deep breath,” she ordered. “We’ll get this sorted out. I’m needed in the antechamber?” The staffer nodded, one hand pressed to their chest, a step away from hyperventilating. “I’ll make my way there. Send any updates to my email, marked ‘urgent’, and I’ll take care of them once I’m done.”

She strode off, scarcely acknowledging the staffer’s hurried thank-yous. Her first, incongruous thought was _I should have been here_. But--no. That made no sense. The outing had been the embassy’s idea in the first place, and what could Janai have done to stave off some computer glitch? Her expertise was in the physical. Things she could see, touch. Punch.

She swung open the antechamber doors, releasing a wave of sound, and swept in to take charge.

Three hours later, she sent the final supplicant on their way and let out a long, exhausted breath, sinking down to sit with her back to the wall. _I don’t have time to rest,_ she told herself, and reluctantly pulled out her cellphone, sorting through the emails that had flooded her inbox in the interim.

To her relief, only a few of the ‘urgent’ emails still remained. The rest had been updated by the diligent embassy staff. Janai tapped in a quick note to herself to find some tangible way to thank everyone for their rapid response in a crisis.

She sent off replies to those emails she could answer from here, but the rest would require her to login to the restricted database, back in her room. Janai sighed, rubbing her aching calf muscles, and tried to work up the motivation to stand. She hadn’t expected to do quite so much walking today, and she was growing uncomfortably aware that she’d been focusing too much on strength training lately and less on endurance. _I should hit the treadmill sometimes, not just the punching bags,_ she thought, idly flipping through her phone.

Her text messages were still up in the background, and a tired smile flickered on her lips at the most recent message there. She certainly didn’t _regret_ all that walking, though she’d certainly expected to.

She stopped, stared at the message again. _I could text her,_ she realized, her finger hovering over the app. _Invite her somewhere, as thanks for arranging the tour today._ She’d heard a few staff members mention a restaurant nearby with passable Xadian cuisine--it would be only fair, after Amaya had given her such insight into Katolis, to return the favor.

Janai was all but certain Amaya hadn’t been to Xadia since the war. Janai’s security would have briefed her, if nothing else. Had Amaya sought out the underground culture built here over the past few years by Xadian expats, or had she felt it would have been an intrusion? The latter was most likely, judging by all the things Amaya had said. The care with which she’d shown Janai the memorial, Sarai’s statue.

Before she could lose her nerve, Janai tapped on the message.

She had the strangest urge to start with a formal greeting. _It’s a text message, not an office email,_ she chastised herself, realizing then that she didn’t even _know_ Amaya’s email address. “Amaya--when do you next have a free day?” she finally typed. “I have a favor to ask, if you don’t mind. Embassy business.”

Her phone chimed almost at once, startling her. “Hit me.” A beat, then another message. “Excuse me, ‘what do you need’?”

Janai laughed, startled by Amaya’s lack of formality--but she had to admit that by the end of the tour, they certainly hadn’t been acting very ‘formal’ toward one another. “I’ve learned of a few Xadian establishments nearby, catering to the embassy,” she typed carefully. “Would you mind accompanying me to them, as a formal thank-you for your tour?”

Amaya began typing at once, judging by the dots at the bottom of the messenger service. “I’d like that,” she said, with a smiling emoji, and Janai let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. More dots. “Though I don’t know if I’ll be welcome there. I may be retired, but I’m still an enemy general.”

“If I’m with you, they shouldn’t complain,” Janai messaged. “In fact, for as long as you’re acting as ambassador, my people will need to grow accustomed to your presence. Seeing you out of uniform might help with that.”

“You have a point,” Amaya allowed. “I’m free tomorrow afternoon, unless that’s too soon.”

Janai shook her head, then realized how useless that was--but she’d gotten used to speaking to Amaya by proxy today. It wasn’t much different to read her words instead of hearing them from Gren. “No, that should be fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby at half-past twelve, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sounds good, see you then,” Amaya texted, and finished with an emoji of the sun. Janai blinked, startled. Was it meant to be a sunburst, like the Sunfire insignia? She hadn’t expected that of Amaya. She’d seen the woman’s faint uneasiness when presented with those golden lines, and thought she could understand why. It had taken Janai a long time to stop shuddering whenever she saw the uneven towers on the Katolis skyline.

 _You have duties,_ Janai reminded herself, and pushed herself up from the floor, pocketing the phone and making her way back through the halls toward her room. The bustle had died down by now, thank the Light, and she settled into her computer chair with a sigh of relief.

She logged into the database, pulled up the relevant files, forwarded the information to the people who’d requested it. Then she swapped over to her schedule for the next week. She wanted to see if she could rearrange a few things, so she could join Amaya and Kazi at the community center on Monday--

Her schedule had changed.

Janai scrolled through the hours, her frown deepening with every incorrect note. She knew she’d been scheduled for lunch at half-past noon; now that was at two. She distinctly recalled not looking forward to meeting import specialists at nine in the morning, but that appointment had been moved forward three hours. _If everyone’s schedule is like this,_ she thought, _no wonder we were scrambling today._

She glared at the screen. As far as she could tell, all of the events were correct. It was only the timings that had been scrambled.

With a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her purse from where she’d dropped it beside the bed. Extracted the little dayplanner from it--she hadn’t quite dared mention it to her sister as yet _another_ reason she was a terrible fit for this job, but she often had trouble recalling names and dates. The physical act of writing helped, though, all the tactile sensations cementing things into place.

She’d made this emergency purchase just before leaving Xadia, and had started writing down embassy staff the moment she’d been shown to her room. Now she flipped to the calendar for the week, trailing one finger down the page. Should she change everything back to what she’d recorded here?

Not without contacting whoever had made the online changes, she decided, though she did make notes on all the entries detailing their original times. If there was a good reason behind the changes, she wasn’t going to contradict them, but it seemed like no one had got the memo.

She made a quick check of her junk email folder, to make sure it hadn’t flagged any messages for the wrong keywords or something, then pulled up the changelog on the calendar. Someone named ‘Jideofor Shehu’ had made most of the changes--not a name Janai recognized, but she was far from the only new member of staff hired to cope with the influx of work stemming from the peace talks. Clicking on the name brought up little information--just an email address and a phone number.

Janai glanced at her watch. It was late, but not too late to call, especially for something that had caused this much trouble today.

More than an hour later, she dropped her phone onto the desk with a growl of frustration. The first number had automatically transferred her to the scheduling department, where she’d been put on hold, as they were--quite understandably--swamped with calls. The harried staffer who’d finally answered didn’t know a Shehu, but thought the name sounded familiar from some work in the catering department.

Catering sent her on to janitorial, janitorial transferred her to building security, building security tracked down a Shehu who’d apparently requested reassignment to Xadia, and had actually left two weeks ago. Her call there hit the answering service, and she left a terse message invoking her sister’s name and asking for an urgent return call in the morning. She’d sent an email as well, for good measure.

Now she sat back, rubbing tension from her neck with tired thumbs. She’d wanted to head down to the gym again tonight. But if she was going to complete the morning’s duties in time to show Amaya around the Xadian block, she’d better get to bed now.

Janai shut off her computer, tossed her clothes into the hamper, and settled into bed. _Everything will be better in the morning,_ she promised herself. _You’ll track down this Shehu, if someone else doesn’t get there first, and work everything out. And then... and then you have an outing to look forward to._

This last made her lips twitch up into a tired smile, and she fell asleep with the remembered taste of honey on her tongue.

###### 

Amaya sat on one of the benches in the embassy lobby, trying--and, she was afraid, failing--to look casual. Despite everything she’d told Janai, she couldn’t stop her nerves from jumping every time someone walked past in a red-and-gold uniform, every time a painted face looked curiously--or, upon occasion, suspiciously--at the woman in civvies sitting in their lobby.

She felt a renewed sense of gratitude that she had never allowed herself to become a celebrity of some kind. She didn’t do interviews, avoided close-ups during medal ceremonies. She’d done her duty for Katolis, she had argued, but she’d sacrificed less than others. Focus on the people who hadn’t made it home, those who’d been injured in the line of duty. Not the ones who spent half their time stuck in a command tent, out of the real danger.

The happy consequence, she was realizing now, was that few of the people here at the embassy could recognize her on sight. Those who’d been briefed, such as the security staff, would know her at once, but Amaya would be the first to admit that she looked far from ‘military’ most of the time. Particularly now, dressed in loafers, soft black suit trousers, and a blue silk ascot tucked into a short-sleeved white denim button-up. She could see passing staffers glance at her, then dismiss her. It helped, a little, with the paranoid shivers crawling down her neck whenever she caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of her eye.

She was just about to glance at her phone to check the time when she registered someone heading toward her with a rapid stride. She tensed automatically, eyes flicking to the side--

It took her a moment of heart-pounding discomfort to realize that was Janai’s stance, with a uniform-clad Kazi a half-step behind, but Amaya felt a smile tugging at her lips once recognition set in. “You dressed up,” she signed, trying not to seem too obviously relieved as she looked Janai over. She was dressed for a comfortable day out, her locs wrapped in a bright patterned headscarf that matched her long skirt, the low scoop neck of her blouse showing off the lines of her collarbones. “That’s a great outfit.”

Janai smoothed her hands down her skirt. A nervous gesture? “Thank you. I admit, I like the look of suits, but this is far more comfortable.”

Amaya raised an eyebrow at Janai’s sandals. “I take it we won’t be walking far?”

“Not far, no,” Janai said. Kazi raised an eyebrow at the less-than-formal response, but modified their signs to match. “Most of the local Xadian places are on this block.” She smiled, stretching out one foot and flexing her toes. “And these are far more comfortable on dirt or sand than any of my other shoes, I promise you.”

She swept Amaya a surreptitious look then. “And, um, good afternoon,” she said, and Amaya wondered whether the faint color in her cheeks was just a trick of the lobby lighting.

“Good afternoon,” Amaya signed. Quite belatedly, but it somehow hadn’t occurred to her, seeing Janai dressed so casually, to offer a formal greeting. “I look forward to seeing the Xadian block. Thank you again for the offer.”

Kazi, bless them, looked more bewildered than ever. Well, they weren’t the only one who didn’t know what to think of the odd mix of familiarity and formality between Amaya and Janai. Yesterday’s tour had gotten so _intimate_ , both of them opening their hearts far more than Amaya had anticipated.

She’d considered, before she’d arrived here, retreating back into the comfort of the bland pleasantries that had ruled their first interactions in the embassy. Giving Janai the chance to do the same, in case she regretted how much she’d shared yesterday. But it seemed they’d both abandoned that pretense from the start.

Amaya couldn’t say she minded.

“You’re welcome,” Janai said. She looked a little awkward, a little unsure--no doubt she, too, didn’t quite know how to react to the ease they’d greeted each other with. She glanced aside at a wall clock, nodded to herself. “We should get going,” she said. “This is technically a long lunch--a lot has happened since yesterday.”

Amaya stood from the bench, raising an eyebrow as she fell into step beside Janai. “Oh?”

Janai gave a smile that looked more like a grimace, leading the way down the embassy steps to the sidewalk. “You’re the first appointment I’ve had today that I haven’t had to call beforehand. Scheduling issues. Probably crossed wires about the summit.”

“Ouch,” Amaya signed, wincing in sympathy. “The same thing happened to me a couple days ago at the college--turned out to be a student playing a prank. Messed up my whole day. I’m glad you could still make time for this, though.”

Janai glanced up, and her face softened. “I’m glad, too. Surprising as that may seem.”

Amaya swallowed hard--did Janai know how attractive she was, when she flashed that gentle smile? Her orange-and-yellow scarf was shot through with threads of gold, catching the sunlight and emphasizing the markings on her cheeks. The scallops in the neck of her teal shirt cast intriguing shadows that Amaya had to glance away from, or risk being caught staring.

She’d never, in her wildest dreams, imagined this. That one day she’d be able to stand beside a Xadian general, not only without accusation or contention, but with cordial ease. With the potential for even more, for a true friendship that didn’t ignore their past, but defied it.

Janai gestured expansively, ignoring the suspicious or mistrusting glances of passersby as she spoke. “This is no library, but it’s a peaceful space for learning,” she said, leading Amaya around a street corner, toward a wide building of bright marble.

Instead of a lawn, the space in front of the building was bordered by decorative stones. Desert grasses and bright, hardy flowers sprawled across the dry ground, surrounded by colored pebbles arranged in aesthetic curves and spirals. A marquee off to one side of the entrance listed a handful of events, all beneath bright gold block script that read ‘Xadian Outreach Centre’.

Amaya had caught glimpses of the building before, but nothing more. It wasn’t near any of the places she frequented, and... and she’d always done her best to avoid the embassy block. She chided herself for this now. All her talk of ‘healing’ and ‘moving on’, and she hadn’t bothered to get to know the Xadians living in her own hometown? Hypocrite.

“I haven’t actually had the chance to come here myself,” Janai admitted, gesturing Amaya inside as the doors slid open, “much to the chagrin of my secretary. Xe’s always spending time here.” 

Janai looked around at the white walls, the wide arches for doorways, the gold inlay on pillars spaced around the wide lobby, and her expression shifted. The change was slight, but Amaya couldn’t keep from watching Janai. The tiny furrow in her brow, the faintest tremble of her chin. Was she upset?

No, Amaya decided, as Janai began to point out the details of the architecture. There was fondness there, though it was edged with pain. She was... homesick?

It made sense. Janai had been forthcoming enough in their first conversation to reveal that she hadn’t chosen this position. And even if she had, Amaya knew well how different the climate, the culture, of Xadia were from Katolis.

“Some of our duties at the embassy include planning events here,” Janai explained, peering through windows into classrooms, motioning toward bright crayon drawings taped to one wall. “Classes in Xadian languages. Traditional storytelling--there’s an interpreter, but I think they use XSL, so you might need to request captions if you attend. Um, dance recitals, concerts--I’ll have to bring you next time they have an obo concert, it’s my favorite--” She cut herself short, rubbing the back of her neck as her cheeks went pink. “Um. Sorry.”

Amaya shook her head, discomfort tugging at her--she didn’t want Janai treating her differently. “I go to concerts with Gren sometimes,” she signed. “It’s fun, actually. I stand next to the speaker--the vibrations are so intense I can almost see them. Thumping in my chest like a second heartbeat. And I like to watch people play instruments--they get so focused, so enthusiastic. Especially the drummers.” She smiled. “What’s an obo?”

The relief on Janai’s face was all but tangible. “It’s like a zither?” she offered. “A board with thirteen strings, and you pluck them.” Her smile softened. “And you’re right--it’s fun to watch. Especially a skilled player. It’s like dancing, almost.”

“Maybe I’ll join you next time there’s a concert, then,” Amaya signed, tucking away a smirk at the increasingly confused looks Kazi kept giving her. It was obvious the little interpreter had been dreading another stiff, frozen conversation, not... whatever this was. “I’ll enjoy it more if I’m there with someone I know. Especially someone who obviously loves the music.”

Janai nodded, looking surprised but pleased, and glanced at her phone. “We’d better move on. But you should sign up for the centre’s email list, if you’re interested.” She flashed Amaya a tentative smile. “I signed up for the library’s events calendar last night. Let me know if there’s anything you’d particularly recommend.”

Amaya nodded as they left the soaring white arches behind. “I will. Where to next?”

“Basi’s,” Janai said, spelling the name before Kazi could. Amaya bit back a laugh at their expression--half pleased, half put-out. “It’s just over here.”

She motioned Amaya into a shop whose windows held mannequins dressed much like Janai, eye-catching patterns in bright colors. “She sells everything here--traditional clothing, modern designers, bolts of fabric. She even accepts commissions for family fabrics.” At Amaya’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated. “Oh--sorry. It’s something we do for special occasions, sometimes. Weddings, funerals, that sort of thing. The whole family, and sometimes honored friends, will dress in a special pattern. Unique to them. I don’t know if you’ve seen many pictures of my sister, but she often wears the same headscarf she wore for our parents’ funeral. I have one just like it.”

Amaya nudged Janai carefully with one elbow. “Let me guess--red and gold?”

Janai laughed. “I’m afraid our royal traditions are rather predictable, yes. Is that not true in your own family?”

“Not really,” Amaya signed, looking through a rack of skirts. Some of them were almost bright enough to leave spots in her vision. “I may have a royal in-law, but I’m not an aristocrat. And my parents were religious, but... I don’t know.” She shook her head, not quite daring to look at Janai. “I keep Shabbat, usually, and celebrate most of the holidays with my nephews, but it’s been a long time since I believed in anything.”

She winced. That felt far too intimate. “These are lovely,” she said, glancing up just in time to see a melancholy look on Janai’s features. She ignored it. “I’m not sure I could pull them off, but I like them.”

“No, you don’t really seem like one for skirts,” Janai said, taking the offered distraction. “I’ll have to see what they have in denim. That seems more your style.”

Amaya glanced up to see a teasing edge to Janai’s smile. “How dare you,” she signed, deadpan. “Denim is the fabric of my people.”

“Katolians?”

“Lesbians,” Amaya signed, and wondered if she was imagining the slight widening of Janai’s eyes. She turned her attention hurriedly back to the rack of skirts, scanning through until she found a purple and green print that managed to clash with everything Janai was wearing. “And if you’re planning outfits for me, it’s my diplomatic duty to return the favor,” she signed, plucking the skirt from its hanger and holding it up. “Try this one--you’ll make a fashion statement like no other.”

Janai glanced dubiously at her own skirt. “You’re not wrong,” she said, and a challenging light shone in her eyes. “But I know you can do better than that.”

“You’re on,” Amaya signed, tossing her head, and turned to another rack. If she paired this green-blue with this grey-blue, and that orange had far more yellow than the first, and--

She amused herself for the next few minutes coming up with the most garish color combination she could find. Janai clutched her own finds protectively to her chest whenever Amaya glanced back at her, tossing out cheerfully acerbic banter, which Amaya returned with equal fervor. Kazi hovered beside them both, interpreting the back-and-forth as best they could. Amaya was vaguely aware of a shop clerk watching them bemusedly, but whether because of Janai’s outfit or her military markings, they apparently didn’t deem it necessary to intervene.

“Done,” Amaya signed with a flourish, spinning to display her finds. Not a single color repeated in the virulently clashing patterns--impressive, considering the technicolor lion’s heads adorning the headband. “You’ll be ready for the peace summit in style now.”

Janai smirked, setting her own outfit momentarily aside, and reached in to pluck the headband from Amaya. She couldn’t fight a pleased shiver at their sudden proximity, the heat of Janai’s fingertips so close to her own. “Close,” Janai said. “But this is a bandeau.”

Amaya glanced at the stretchy band of fabric with a shrug. “Katolians won’t know the difference,” she signed, grinning as Janai’s face crinkled with laughter. “What am I wearing, to accompany you?”

“You’ve never looked better, I assure you,” Janai laughed, scooping up her own choices.

With each successive item, Amaya found it harder to keep her balance, her shoulders shaking with mirth. Janai had somehow managed to construct an entire outfit out of varicolored denim--top, skirt, sandals, headscarf, beaded waist-wrap, and finally an intricately detailed length of denim that she draped dramatically over one shoulder.

“You’re going to start a new royal tradition,” Janai said, striking a fashion-runway pose in the shop aisle, beaming as Amaya gasped for air.

Then Janai’s face took on a regretful cast, and Amaya followed her gaze to see a clock on one wall of the shop. “It’s after one,” Janai said, and reluctantly started putting clothing away. Amaya followed suit, tucking away the memory of Janai’s carefree smile. “I can stretch my lunch another hour, at the most, but we should get moving.”

Janai hesitated, though, before leaving the shop. “Over here,” she said, and beckoned Amaya to a display of scarves, squares of bright color. “Choose one?” she said, her stance hesitant. Almost shy. It tugged at Amaya’s heart. “As... as a cultural gift. From one ambassador to another.”

Amaya stepped forward, brushing her fingers across the fabrics. Cottons, linens, silks. One caught her eye--a muted maroon with rich brown stripes. Just like Janai’s scarf, gold threads shimmered here and there through the pattern. She lifted it, unfolded it, laid it across her arm, enjoying its cool weight.

And realized, a moment later, that the reason it had caught her eye was because it reminded her of Janai. She swallowed hard, willing her expression to remain neutral. “This one,” she signed at last, refolding the cloth.

“Good choice. I--I mean, it looks... it suits you,” Janai said. Amaya wondered again if she was imagining the way Janai’s eyes had widened, the faint tremor in her fingers as she pulled a wallet from her skirt pocket and headed over to the clerk.

Kazi tapped Amaya’s arm, startling her out of her contemplation. “You seem to be getting along better already,” they signed, looking earnestly between Janai and Amaya. “I’m glad. General Janai was most anxious about making a good impression.” They offered a shy smile, adjusting their glasses. “She seems gruff, I know, but she cares about Xadia. And we staffers at the Embassy know this peace treaty is the best thing for both our peoples.”

“That’s good to know,” Amaya signed, watching from the corner of her eye as Janai smiled at the clerk, thanking them. “I look forward to working with you both in future.”

Janai rejoined them a moment later. “I haven’t been to the next shop yet, though I’ve been meaning to visit,” she said, beckoning them out of Basi’s. “It’s an import shop. Artwork, small appliances, beauty products, all sorts of things people might miss from home.”

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking to pick up?” Amaya asked, tucking the folded headscarf into her shirt pocket.

“My embassy room is still rather bare,” Janai said, striding down the sidewalk toward a building more like a supermarket, at the back of a modest parking lot. “I could use some curtains, and something to brighten my walls would be nice. And I’d like to check out their haircare section--I didn’t bring much with me, and I’m running low on shampoo.”

Amaya smiled, blowing the wind-tossed sweep of her own hair out of her eyes. “I have a feeling your regimen is a little more involved than mine,” she signed. “Half the time I just use soap.”

Janai shuddered. “Perish the thought,” she said, running a hand over her bundled locs as though self-conscious about them. She beckoned Amaya into the store as the doors slid open. “Don’t let my sister hear you say that--I could never convince her to trust you if she did.”

‘Does that mean _you_ trust me?’ Amaya managed not to sign, instead looking over shelves of products whose labels were in at least three languages she only vaguely recognized, from intelligence reports and intercepted communications. Gren would probably know what they all said, she mused. He might like to come here sometime, after all the years he’d spent studying Xadian culture--

Motion. Someone strode toward them, purposeful. Amaya tensed, turning, and Janai moved at the same moment. Her lips formed words Amaya couldn’t read as she turned away, greeting someone wearing a uniform with the shop’s logo.

Someone who recognized Amaya.

She couldn’t tell what they said, emotion coloring their accent beyond recognition, but their stance was interpretation enough. Set shoulders, clenched fists. Tight jaw and furrowed brow. A sickly combination of anger, loathing, fear. Familiar emotions, ones she’d seen on captured soldiers, seen in the field as she fought to retake bridges or outposts or even towns.

Emotions she’d felt, long ago, as reports filtered in that General Janai’s forces had ambushed another squad. That her line had advanced, pushing Katolis into desperate positions that had sometimes required desperate measures.

Who of theirs had she killed? A parent, a sibling? A partner? A child?

She tapped Kazi on the shoulder, tearing their worried gaze from the confrontation. “I’m not wanted,” she signed, short and sharp. “Tell her to meet me outside.”

And Amaya left, casting a troubled, apologetic glance backward. Janai stood her ground, firm and unyielding. Her arms folded, though compassion softened her features.

Amaya settled onto the stoop outside, out of the way of shoppers, and tipped her head back. Let out a long breath, shame and regret roiling within her.

She’d known not everyone would forgive her. She didn’t expect them to. It still ate at her.

She glimpsed the door sliding open and flinched. Adrenaline spiking through her, tensing her limbs to fight or flee. But those were Janai’s sandals, that was Janai’s bright skirt.

As Janai and Kazi approached, Amaya’s gaze slid tentatively to her fellow general’s face. Janai looked... troubled. A tangle of emotions in her expression, her posture, as she strode over to Amaya and settled on the curb beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Janai said.

Amaya shook her head, lips twitching into a joyless smile. “I’m sorry, too.”

Janai waited expectantly, as though anticipating questions or complaints. But Amaya’s hands were still. She didn’t need an explanation, she certainly didn’t want an apology. She’d made her choices long ago. These were the consequences, and this was far from the first time her past had come back to haunt her.

“I’d been here for three days,” Janai said at last, looking distant. “I stopped by a shop to pick up a few things I hadn’t realized I would need here. The clerk refused to serve me. Called me a war criminal. I’m surprised they didn’t spit in my face, to be honest.”

She glanced at Amaya, then away again. Giving her space. “I was upset, of course I was. But not at the clerk. They had a right to their pain. The things I did had harmed them.”

“I’d rather it be me, than my troops,” Amaya signed. Breathing deep, calming her racing heart. “They were following orders. I was the one with the most information. I _gave_ the orders. If I have to be the monster under people’s beds, I’ll take on that job. Especially if it makes things easier for the people who bled for me.”

“Monsters,” Janai said, with a wry smile. “That’s us.” She ran her fingers over her headscarf. “Can you see my horns? That’s why I wear my hair like this, you know, to hide them.”

Amaya laughed, without much humor, but with a sense of true companionship. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone accused me of having horns,” she signed, and sighed. “But... yeah. I don’t just expect everything to be better, now the war’s over. It might not be possible for some people to forgive us. I’ve learned to accept that. I know why I did what I did. Some of it I regret, some of it I don’t. That’s enough. It has to be.”

Janai propped her chin on her hands. Nodded slowly. “The truly monstrous thing, I think,” she said, “would be to deny the harm we caused. To insist we be forgiven, in the name of peace. To put our own feelings over others’ lives, to justify our actions in the name of the greater good.”

Tears pricked at Amaya’s eyes. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d talked with someone about this. Gren didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. He hadn’t been there. And too many of her other friends from the service seemed content to put the war behind them and forget it had ever happened, or to assert that they’d been right all along. She’d cut ties with many of them, but she hadn’t realized until now just how lonely she’d grown.

They sat, for a long moment. Side by side, both lost in thought.

“I’ll understand if you want to cut this short,” Janai said at last.

Amaya tipped her head, looking Janai over. Her shoulders slumped with resignation, but Amaya fancied the expression on Janai’s face was... hopeful. “Is there somewhere else you want to go?” Amaya asked, her signs almost hesitant.

Janai stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles on the asphalt. “I still haven’t had lunch,” she said. “There’s a Xadian restaurant by the embassy. They’re used to Katolians there. If you wanted to....”

“I want to,” Amaya signed, startling herself. She didn’t want to end the day on something so painful. “I’d be glad to accompany you.”

Janai turned, sitting now face-to-face with Amaya, and her face softened in a smile that made Amaya catch her breath. “Let’s go, then.”

Amaya stood, trembling with unspent adrenaline, and walked back toward the embassy at Janai’s side.

“A lot of the embassy staff get lunch here, apparently,” Janai said, her expression determinedly casual. “I haven’t been yet--I like to cook, when I have the time. It’s soothing. And it’s nice to work with my hands, make something... tangible.” Her lips quirked in a wry smile. “And usually edible.”

“I can appreciate that,” Amaya signed. “I don’t usually have time, between all my classes, but Gren loves to bake. Sometimes he’ll come over and show me a new recipe.” She ducked her head. “I’m not very good at it, though. I’ve got some family recipes gathering dust--I should send them to you. Get some use out of them.”

Janai’s smile grew a shade brighter. “I’d like that,” she said, and ducked under a fringed awning. The word ‘Nkoyo’ was printed on the cloth in primary colors. “We’re here.”

The host, to Amaya’s surprise, was Katolian, their vowels shaped by a coastal accent. Some of the tension left Amaya’s shoulders as she, Janai, and Kazi were led to a table--Janai had spoken true, it seemed. No one here gave Amaya a second glance, accompanied as she was by a Xadian soldier and an Embassy staffer.

They settled into chairs crafted of bamboo and light wood, padded with cushions made from fabric that Amaya now recognized as Xadian. She accepted a menu from the host, scanning over the list of food with increasing bemusement. She didn’t recognize most of the dishes, and her desire to try something new warred with her dislike for allowing other people to order for her. Most people knew enough to speak to her instead of her interpreter, but it sometimes took only one bad experience to sour an establishment for her.

“What do you recommend?” she asked Janai, tapping on the table to catch her attention.

Janai frowned at her menu. “Might we get a few things to share?” she asked. “I don’t want you to order something and then feel obligated to eat something you discover you loathe.”

“That’s probably best,” Amaya allowed, setting her menu reluctantly aside. At least this gave her the chance to look around the restaurant. Each of the tables had what looked to be individually hand-dyed runners for tablecloths. Dark-stained wood partitions, carved with dancing figures, separated the dining room into sections. The walls were hung with paintings and woven tapestries, and tall ferns and bamboo plants brightened the corners. “This place is gorgeous,” she signed. “Though there’s less gold than I expected.”

Janai laughed, laying her own menu atop Amaya’s. “Lux Aurea is our ‘golden city’. The rest of Xadia looks more like this. Wood and cloth.” She winked, a teasing grin lighting her face. “There is more to us than ornamentation and majesty.”

Amaya feigned a horrified gasp. “Don’t spoil my dreams of gold and circuses. Next you’ll tell me you have post offices.”

“I’m afraid we do,” Janai said, shaking her head with mock gravity. Her eyes danced with merriment.

Amaya clutched dramatically at her chest. “The mundanity. The civic responsibility. I may never recover.”

A waiter approached the table, and Janai, still laughing, turned to greet them--in Xadian, Amaya thought, as she couldn’t make out the words--and placed their order. “This reminds me of primary school,” Janai said as the waiter left. “Sharing side dishes among frie--classmates.” She glanced deliberately away from Amaya, pink dusting her cheeks. “Do you remember when the trend was to carve your vegetables into flowers?” she asked Kazi.

 _Friends_. Amaya still didn’t know whether that was how she saw her companions, but she couldn’t deny the pleased little shiver that ran through her at the thought of Janai calling her a friend.

Kazi’s response was shy but amused, offering a story from their own childhood, and Amaya chimed in with an anecdote from her elementary school days. She wasn’t sure how long it took the food to arrive--the time passed quickly while they chatted. Kazi even made a joke at one point, which left Amaya feeling oddly like a proud parent.

“Are the three of us going to be able to eat all this?” Amaya asked, laughing as the waiter set the final plate on the table. She signed ‘thank you’, the waiter’s friendly nod in return helping to chase away a little more of her turmoil from earlier. 

Janai grinned. “We’ll do our best. And we can take home any leftovers.” She started pointing to dishes. “That’s pounded yam. Garri--fermented cassava. I usually eat garri in milk, but these are sweet dumplings with peanuts. Ooh, definitely try the kosai, they’re fried bean cakes. Suya is skewered meat--I got us fish, since I noticed you went for the fish at our first luncheon--and jollof rice is a _staple_. Here--it’s rice with tomatoes and chicken.”

Amaya sniffed the air, discreet and mistrustful, as she scooped some of everything onto her plate. She thought she smelled chilies. “Is any of it spicy?” she asked.

Janai blinked, as though this question had never occurred to her. “Not really?” she said. “Most of the dishes are spiced, but I wouldn’t call them spicy.” She bit into the pounded yam and made a face. “I should have guessed,” she said. “Yam flour. I make my own fresh-pounded, but I suppose it must be difficult to import them in restaurant quantities.”

“Use your ambassadorial influence,” Amaya signed, grinning. She signed a quick blessing and picked up her own yam, taking a careful bite. Bland, sweet, chewy--it reminded her of mochi, in a way, fond childhood memories of family holidays.

Then she bit into one of the kosai, and discovered that by ‘not really spicy’, Janai meant ‘your tongue doesn’t immediately go numb in self-defense’. She coughed, swallowed hard, and took a large bite of pounded yam. Breathing through her nose, hoping the starch would help neutralize the burn. “Turns out my students were right all along,” she signed, her eyes watering. “Xadians apparently _do_ breathe fire.”

Janai flashed her a wide-eyed look and took a bite of her own kosai. “That’s not--” she said, then cut herself off, though she couldn’t hide the way her eyes had begun to sparkle. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle _any_ heat,” she said, fighting back a smile.

“It’s not a cultural thing!” Amaya insisted, though she felt a smile tugging at her still-burning lips. “Don’t judge my people by my personal failings!”

Even Kazi was trying not to smile. Amaya huffed, soothing her wounded dignity--and her sweet tooth--with a sour garri dumpling. “Any other surprises?”

“You’ll probably want to pick through the jollof rice, then,” Janai said. Her lips still trembled with suppressed laughter, so much so that Amaya had to watch Kazi’s signs to make any sense of Janai’s words. “But I think that’s it.” She shook her head. “We’ll obviously have to do this again, build up your tolerance--it won’t do, having an ambassador to Xadia who can’t eat capsicums.”

“Only if I get to take you out for sweets after,” Amaya signed, realizing a beat too late that she was flirting again. But it was just so easy to fall into banter with Janai, so satisfying to see the laughter in her eyes and the color in her cheeks.

She tore her gaze from Janai’s enticing smile and turned her attention back to the food, eating more carefully now.

Far too soon, Janai pulled out her phone, grimacing at it. “I’m afraid I need to get back to the embassy,” she said. “But I’m glad you could accompany me today.”

“So am I,” Amaya signed. She accepted the boxed leftovers with a smile, and thanked the host as she followed Janai from the restaurant. “Will you be joining us at the DCC tomorrow?” she asked, before she lost her nerve.

Janai sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hope so,” she said, startling Amaya with the intensity in her gaze. 

With that, Janai and Kazi said their goodbyes and returned to the embassy, leaving Amaya standing on the sidewalk.

She blew out a long breath, orienting herself for the walk home. Today had been... confusing. Distressing, even, at times. And she needed to get home and start doing the other side of her job as ambassador. Judging by the notifications on her phone, Harrow was running out of patience.

And yet....

Amaya reached up, stroking her thumb over the silken headscarf in her pocket, and a smile broke across her face as she strode away from the embassy.

And yet, despite it all, she wouldn’t have traded the day for anything.

###### 

Janai slipped warily through the embassy doors, half-expecting to be accosted again, and blew out a quiet breath of relief to find her way unbarred. Perhaps all the scrambling that morning had been the last of her problems.

She thanked Kazi for their aid and made her way back to her room, no longer bothering to hide the smile taking over her features. She’d had _fun_ today. Everything had felt so natural--even the conflict at the shop had given them a chance to talk. A moment which Janai found herself holding close, a comforting warmth in her chest.

And Amaya’s interest in Xadian culture had been genuine, unfeigned. The former General continued to surprise Janai--Amaya was quick to forgive, strove to understand. The things she said tugged at Janai’s heart, bringing forth thoughts and memories she’d rarely spoken about to anyone else.

An image rose, unbidden, in Janai’s mind: Amaya, seated across from her at the restaurant. Picking through her rice with such a look of concentration that it had taken all of Janai’s self-control to keep from laughing.

It had been a long time since she’d laughed this much. Smiled, even. Yet somehow, in only four days, Amaya had begun to break through the brittle shell Janai had built around herself since the war.

 _I’ll have to remember to send a formal thank-you to the Council, for convincing me to take this position,_ Janai thought as she settled into her desk chair and pulled up her email.

Her heart sank--still no response from Shehu, from either last night’s email or this morning’s rather more insistent missive. She let out an annoyed breath, fighting back the urge to track down their address and ship them a glitter bomb or something equally horrific. Called instead, leaving yet another dire message on their impersonal government answering machine.

Well, even if she couldn’t get ahold of them, the scheduling problems had been mostly fixed by now. The scheduling department had even changed permissions on employees’ personal calendars, requiring supervisor’s authorization to edit details on any meetings with persons outside the embassy itself.

Still, the lack of response nagged at her. She could go all the way to the top, she supposed. Contact Khessa herself and ask if there was anything going on at the palace that might explain the issues here in Katolis. But that seemed rather extreme, even to Janai.

 _The transfer department,_ she realized. It was possible Shehu’s information had changed during the transfer and not been updated online. She settled back and dialed the internal number, already planning her questions.

“We’re sorry,” said a cheerful electronic voice, “but all lines are busy. Your call is important to us. Please hold, and we’ll answer your call in the order it was received.”

Janai raised an eyebrow, pulling the phone away from her ear and letting it play tinny hold music to itself while she double-checked the number. Yes, she’d tapped it in correctly. But why would the _transfer department_ be so busy as to put incoming calls on hold? This close to the summit, they shouldn’t be hiring new staff or accepting requests to relocate.

_Something’s not right._

She watched the minutes tick by, unease growing in her stomach with every repetition of the Xadian anthem, expertly played but rendered thin and stuttering by the phone line. It took nearly twenty minutes for the phone to ring at last, and the voice that picked up sounded just as harried as Scheduling had yesterday. “If you’re calling about an unrequested transfer, we’re looking into the problem,” the Transfer specialist said, a wearied spiel that had obviously seen a lot of use today.

 _A what?_ Janai thought, her worries redoubling as she tried to recall what she’d planned to say. “No, I’m calling about a prior transfer, actually,” she said. “A staffer named Jideofor Shehu. They haven’t been responding to my queries, and I was wondering whether their information hadn’t been updated.”

“Hold on, let me check.” The sound of typing in the background. “It looks like we haven’t been sent Shehu’s new information. You might have to take this up on the Xadian side.” More typing. “Huh. That’s odd.”

Anxiety bit at Janai’s chest. “What is?”

“I can’t see where these orders originated from. Were we having problems that far back?” The sound went muffled then, as though the Transfer specialist were conferring with someone else in the room. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention... ser?” they asked, as though belatedly realizing their spiel hadn’t allowed for the exchange of names.

“This is General Janai,” Janai said, and winced at what sounded like a bit-back expletive. “My request isn’t urgent,” she assured the staffer. “It can wait until after you’ve dealt with the pending transfer requests. But I’d appreciate updates when you do manage to find something out.”

The specialist sounded relieved. “Understood, ser. We’ll get that information to you as soon as we can. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that should be it,” Janai said, and hung up the phone with a hasty exchange of goodbyes.

She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingernails on the desk. So much for _that_ idea. She apparently wasn’t going to get anything new done tonight on the Shehu front.

Frowning, she scrolled through her emails. Still enough to be nearly overwhelming, but she’d dealt with the most urgent before leaving the embassy. Everything left could wait another half-hour for resolution.

The thought from earlier kept circling in her mind. _Something is wrong._

Janai pushed herself up from her computer desk and left the room. If anyone needed her, she had a cellphone.

She made her way to the commissary, though of course she wasn’t hungry. Still, it was the best place she could think of to find someone to speak to on a casual basis.

Lunchtime had come and gone, but the room was far from empty--no doubt people were still trying to fit mealtimes into their disrupted schedules. Janai grabbed a mug of tea and made her way over to a few staffers she vaguely recognized, acknowledging their salutes with a nod. “Long day?” she asked, settling herself as though wearily into a seat.

“Yes, ser,” one of the staffers said. Makeup couldn’t quite hide the purplish circles under their eyes. “We’ve been scrambling since yesterday. Did you get caught in it, too?”

“Unfortunately,” Janai said, sipping at her tea. Ugh. Was this the best the embassy had to offer? She should see about supplementing their stores--it wouldn’t do for the staffers to be overworked _and_ be forced to drink weak tea. “Scheduling, transfers--it seems like everything’s been falling to pieces this week. Is it usually this bad before a big event?”

Several of the staffers were quick to reassure her that no, this was definitely unusual. A couple of them piped up with their own issues they’d run into--catering requests shuffled, equipment mistakenly delivered to the wrong place. Computer problems, all.

Her nebulous sense of unease growing stronger, Janai drained her mug and took her leave, heading back through the halls to her room. She listened to conversations on the way, and nearly every one was a variation on the same theme--these files missing, this program corrupted. And she wasn’t the only one who had begun to grow suspicious of the problems. The word ‘sabotage’ was on more than one set of lips, though usually whispered furtively. Janai did her best to look too busy to listen.

She closed the door to her room and leaned against it, letting out a long breath.

_I could ask Amaya._

The thought was unbidden, fleeting, but... she trusted Amaya, bizarre as those two words sounded together. Amaya knew this country, this _city_ , better than most. She was well-connected. Perhaps she’d run across something, at the palace or the college or any of her other varied extracurricular activities, that might shine some light on the problems facing the embassy. At the very least, she might know of a reputable cyber-security company or consultant.

Janai started typing. Stopped, erased the text. If someone _was_ in their computer systems, she didn’t dare spell everything out and risk tipping her hand.

“Amaya--sorry to bother you,” she typed at last, before she lost her nerve, “but there’s a situation at the embassy I would appreciate your input on, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Just as before, Amaya responded almost at once. “Sure. What’s up?”

“It’s a lot to explain over text,” Janai wrote. “Is there a time we could meet tomorrow morning?”

“I’ve got class until two, but if you can swing lunch that late, we could meet at the cafe by the embassy,” Amaya replied. “Same one we met at yesterday.”

Janai flipped through both her calendars, physical and digital. “I think I can manage that,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

“Anytime,” Amaya messaged, finishing once again with the sun emoji. A send-off? Whatever its intention, Janai found herself smiling at the little picture. She could all but see it on Amaya’s fingers, a cupped hand arcing up from her cheek like the sun moving across the sky.

The thought buoyed her as she turned back to her computer, pulling up the first of her emails. With luck, her suspicions would amount to nothing.

But Janai had long since stopped trusting in luck.


	5. Unease

Amaya sat at the same table where she’d met Janai on Saturday, idly texting Gren. Amaya didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she was nervous about meeting with Janai.

She’d had an epiphany the previous night. It felt like it had been a long time coming, though she’d only been denying it for two days. It wasn’t until she’d found herself idly searching for videos of obo performances late into the evening, between emails to Harrow and other palace staff, that she’d realized that she really, truly, _definitely_ had a massive crush on the heir to the Sunfire throne.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

And that was probably why she was sitting here in this cafe, pretending she wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack.

It was all the business with the summit, she decided. And with Viren, and with the way her life had been so upended over the past few days. Slow down. Breathe. She’d been through boot camp, battle, final exams. She could handle meeting a woman for lunch, even if she’d spent years hating that woman and was now uncomfortably attracted to her.

She could still remember how soft Janai’s cheek had been, against her fingertips. How warm. The way her deep brown eyes had widened, the golden lines around them stretching, sparkling in the low light of the bakery. Her parted lips, the honey on her breath. The compassion on her face yesterday outside the import store. The laughter in her eyes at lunch, her cheeks gone pink from the spicy food....

Amaya rested her forehead in one hand, ordering herself to _breathe_. She’d had crushes before.

But she’d never before hesitated to pursue one. Her usual impulse to push forward, bold and confident, tripped her up this time. There was too much between them, shared history and shared pain, and...

And it had been so easy sharing her past, her _self_ , with Janai. Amaya had fallen asleep thinking about what to wear today, had woken from dreams so enticing that she’d been tempted to sleep in late.

Ugh. She was not going to make it through this summit with her dignity intact.

Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced down--but no, that light was _red_ instead of pink. Gren’s tone was two long bursts, one short; this tone began with a short burst, and Amaya’s heartrate increased with each of the three long buzzes.

She opened the message, and couldn’t keep from smiling as she read it. “I’m on my way,” Janai said. “What are you drinking?”

“Just black coffee,” Amaya texted, glancing up at the door, though she knew it would take a few minutes for Janai to reach the cafe. “But I'm considering grabbing a pastry.”

“Do you have another favorite pastry to share with me?” Janai asked, and Amaya’s smile stretched wider. “And I could use tea recommendations. I doubt most places in Katolis have rooibos, considering the state of the trade sanctions I’ve been going over.”

Amaya glanced up at the menu--she rarely got anything here other than her usual coffee, and wasn’t entirely certain what they had. “Try the masala chai,” she advised, grinning as she hopped back up to order. One eye on her phone in case Janai shot down the suggestion. “It’s a spiced tea. And maybe some anpan? They’re sweet bean buns, but they shouldn’t be too sweet for you.”

“That sounds excellent,” Janai texted back. Amaya finished her transaction with a satisfied smile.

She settled back into her chair, sipping coffee, and tried to concentrate on her phone, but she couldn't stop glancing up at the door. Fortunately for her nerves, it was only a couple of minutes before motion caught the corner of Amaya’s vision. She snapped her gaze over, biting back the reflexive grin that threatened to overtake her at the sight of the woman stepping into the cafe.

Janai was obviously dressed for work today, in a slim, well-cut charcoal pantsuit over a deep red blouse, the color almost the same as the locs tied back from her gold-lined face. Gold cuffs decorated the outer curves of her ears, and a fine gold chain shimmered at her neck. She glanced across the cafe, and Amaya waved, catching her breath at the smile that stole across _Janai’s_ face.

Amaya felt distinctly underdressed in dark-wash jeans and a tight black tank, a red plaid shirt tied at her waist, but she hadn’t wanted to seem like she was trying too hard. She turned back to her phone, messaging Gren that she’d talk to him later, and did her best to compose herself.

It wasn’t long before Amaya caught sight of Janai striding toward her, drink and a paper bag in hand. Janai settled into the cafe chair with a wry smile, shaking her head. "I should have known you wouldn't let me pay," she said.

Amaya smirked, but her eyes widened as Janai set down her drink and began to sign. “Hello, it’s nice to see you again,” she signed, just as she had on Saturday, though not nearly so shaky and uncertain now.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Amaya signed, genuinely touched. She tapped out a quick message on her phone, the keyboard long since locked into her muscle memory. “You said you wanted to ask about something?”

Janai’s eyes widened as her phone lit up, but when she glanced down, Amaya saw the realization come over her. Janai picked up her phone, swiped at it for a moment. “I should have brought Kazi,” Amaya read a moment later.

Amaya shook her head. “It’s fine,” she texted back. “Writing’s not that difficult.”

The look in Janai’s eyes was… uncertain. She stared down at her phone for a long moment, writing and deleting several things, before finally just showing the screen to Amaya. “I’m worried about security,” Amaya read. “There have been some disturbing incidents at the embassy.”

Amaya bit her lip, her lovesick levity fading into unease. She held up one finger, dug into her bag and pulled out a pencil and notepad. “Here, no electronic copy,” she wrote, and slid the paper across the table. Took a long sip of her coffee and pulled one of the buns from their paper bag.

Janai pressed an absent “Thank you” to her chin and began to write. Amaya was glad Janai wasn’t paying attention to her then, because she could feel an uncontrollable smile tugging at her lips. First the fingerspelling yesterday, and now this. How much KSL had Janai been practicing, in the five days they’d known each other? Her predecessor hadn’t bothered to learn more than the most basic pleasantries in two _years_ , despite having been paired with Amaya at more than a dozen state dinners. A subtle snub against the peace talks, and her role in them.

Amaya told herself, firmly and repeatedly, that Janai was simply practicing basic courtesy. They’d been rather thrown together; it was only practical for Janai to learn at least this much.

Janai slid the pad back to Amaya then, and Amaya handed over the other anpan, scanning across Janai’s neat but hasty handwriting. “There have been a number of incidents with our computer systems. Files going missing, data being changed without good reason. You’re very well-connected here, far more than I am back home. Could this be the work of an enemy known to you? Or do you know a company qualified to work with our embassy? I know of no one better to ask than you.”

Amaya frowned, tapping one finger on the paper. No one had mentioned anything to her about the embassy lately, but it had been a while since she'd seen any of her less-than-savory contacts, and she'd been staying out of politics for the last couple of years. It was possible word had spread, but hadn't yet reached Amaya.

She made mental notes about people she could ask for updated intel, then turned her mind instead to the cybersecurity side of the question. Her first thought was Claudia--the girl was a genius with computers. Common sense reasserted itself a moment later. The embassy needed a professional, not a teenager, skilled though she might be.

Still, she would know the best companies around. And it was possible there’d been rumors in Claudia’s programming circles about something going down at the embassy. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to ask, and it had been too long since Amaya had visited her niblings in any case.

“I don’t do much with computers,” she wrote at last. “You saw my cellphone--I’m afraid my laptop’s not much better. I do have contacts, though, and I can make discreet inquiries from some of Harrow’s people. If anyone’s caught wind of a plot, I’ll let you know.” She hesitated, wrote another line before passing it back over. “I assume you don’t want any of this over text?”

Janai frowned down at the pad. “I don’t know how much might be compromised,” she wrote. “It might be nothing. Just a prank. But this close to the summit, I’d rather not take chances.”

Amaya nodded firmly, taking a bite of her anpan. As though reminded, Janai sipped at her tea, her pleased expression warming Amaya’s heart as she wrote. “I’ll visit in person, then.” She looked wryly down at the paper, scrawled again. “I might have to cancel some of my obligations this week, but I should probably do that anyway, to prep for the summit.”

“I hate to throw off your schedule like this,” Janai wrote, looking chagrined.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Amaya wrote, and flashed Janai a mock-stern look. “This summit is important to both our people. It’s my duty--and my pleasure--to help it run smoothly.” She made to push the pad back over, then made one more note. “And try the bun. It’s good.”

Janai read these words with a smile that made Amaya’s breath catch, and picked up the bun while she wrote. Her eyes widened when she took a bite, and she scribbled one last line before pushing the pad back over. “Thank you, you don’t know how much I appreciate your help. I might not get to the community center tonight—it depends on how chaotic things still are at the embassy. But Kazi should be there. You’re right—the anpan is excellent!”

Amaya laughed, debating whether to write ‘I told you so’ on the paper. “It was one of my favorites when I was a kid,” she finally wrote. “I don’t eat it as often as I’d like. Just fell out of the habit, I guess.”

“Well, then,” Janai wrote, still eating, “I’m glad I could give you a reason to try it again.”

The simple words filled Amaya with warm affection, and she couldn’t help but glance up at Janai, taking her in. This close, Janai smelled of spices. Her dark eyes glimmered with amusement. The chain of her necklace disappeared into her blouse, and Amaya fought down the urge to run her fingers along the warm skin of Janai’s collarbone, lift out the pendant to examine it.

Janai’s gaze caught hers then, and the air suddenly felt charged, as though lightning were about to strike the table. Janai’s lips parted on a shaky inhale, trembling, and she glanced downward for a moment, perhaps looking Amaya over in much the same way Amaya had been admiring her.

Amaya tore her gaze from Janai’s, tried to write more, but her mind was empty of words. She usually didn’t mind the necessity of translating her thoughts, but some things were best transmitted through sign, the inadequacy of words losing all nuance of motion. “If I do find something out,” she finally managed, “how should I tell you? I suppose it won’t be too untoward for me to stop by the embassy at lunchtime, since we’re preparing for the summit together.”

“That might work,” Janai allowed, sipping her tea again. “But I find myself growing very fond of this cafe. Perhaps we could both take lunch here for the next week, if that isn’t too much of a hardship for you?”

Amaya didn’t write ‘No, definitely not a hardship,’ though her fingers itched to sign the sentiment. “That seems like our best option,” she wrote instead. “I can bring my classwork here, instead of correcting everything at home. And I’ll keep an eye out for anything on my end that feels off.”

Janai glanced at her phone, glanced regretfully at Amaya. “I need to get back to the embassy,” she wrote. “Every time we think we’ve got all the problems sorted, another one crops up--they’re probably scrambling again. I’ll see you later.”

“Good luck,” Amaya wrote, and tucked the pad back into her bag. Janai flashed her one last smile, then stood and left the cafe, striding confidently through the crowd there.

And if Amaya caught herself staring at the woman’s ass on the way out, well, that was no one’s business but her own.

She sighed, chasing thoughts of how good Janai looked in a suit from her mind, and pulled her cellphone back out. “Hey, kid, I need to arrange a few things for the summit, and it’s been too long since I saw you and your sister outside of class,” she texted Soren. “When would be a good time for me to stop by?”

Amaya sipped coffee for several minutes, flipping through emails, before Soren responded. “I don’t think we’re doing anything tonight, well Dad might be but I’m not if you wanted to head over soon?”

“That sounds great,” she texted back. “Has he still got you and Claudia on that health kick?”

Soren sent back a puking emoji. “Have you ever had salt-free bran cookies with carob chips? Even Claudia told him she’d prefer death.”

Amaya snickered. “Well, I’m definitely not about to undermine the dictates of your legal guardian, but I feel obligated to inform you that I’ll be bringing an entire pizza as my lunch and I don’t plan on paying close attention to it.”

Confetti. “YOU’RE MY FAVORITE AUNT,” Soren replied.

“I’m your only aunt, Soren,” Amaya texted, grinning now. “And I’m technically not even that.”

“Doesn’t matter still my favorite.” A moment later, “And hey you don’t have to listen to his lectures about corn syrup and trans fats!”

Amaya laughed through another bite of pan. “One of my friends turns off his hearing aid whenever people around him are being obnoxious. If only you could do the same. I’d suggest you tell your dad that all fats you eat are trans fats, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t get the joke.”

“LMAO Claudia would though,” Soren texted back. “I’ll have to tell her whenever she takes a break from all her computer junk, she’s been in there for hours. Actually I’ve barely seen her at all this week. I dunno what tournament’s coming up but she’s working super hard for it. I’ll make sure she comes out to see you though.”

Amaya glanced at the time display. A taxi ride would take only a few minutes. If she left now, she’d get a good hour or more of family time before the DCC tonight. “Better do it soon, kiddo. I’m invading in fifteen.”

Soren sent over a beaming emoji. “Thanks so much Aunt Amaya! I can’t wait!”

She sat back, finishing the last of her anpan, and sighed. It made her uncomfortable to realize it had been quite a while since she'd spent any one-on-one time with Soren or Claudia, and she wouldn't be heading over even now if she didn't have an ulterior motive. Still, Soren would be happy to see her. Wasn't that good enough?

 _As long as Viren doesn't come out to say hello, I'll call it good,_ she decided.

Her phone buzzed again a moment later, the light pink this time, though it took a moment for her to identify the pattern as Kazi instead of Gren. “Good evening, General. I would like to confirm that our meeting tonight is at six o'clock,” the text read, still so formal.

Amaya smiled fondly down at it, already tapping out a reply. "Yep, six. Thanks for confirming. Is your schedule back to normal yet?"

"For the most part," Kazi replied. "General Janai hopes to be there as well, if her duties allow. If not, she asks me to tell you to have a good night. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Amaya texted. “See you soon.”

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and drank the last of her coffee, smiling softly as she packed up and headed out. She could picture the soft blush spreading across Janai’s dark cheeks and wide nose as she asked Kazi to add ‘good night’ to the message. Picture Janai agitating over whether or not that would be too familiar.

And as she made her way to the pizza parlor--a spring in her step, feeling warm despite the cool spring air--Amaya had to admit that she had it _bad_.

###### 

Half an hour later, Janai would have given almost anything to be back in that coffeeshop.

Just as she'd feared, the embassy was a scene of disaster. As the computer problems grew increasingly pronounced, the noise and bustle of the embassy had upticked dramatically. Everywhere Janai looked, people were rushing down the corridors or huddling in corners for whispered conversations.

She’d returned to find that many of her usual duties had been suspended pending review of the affected systems, so for the moment she just walked the halls, taking in the frantic atmosphere. Yesterday's rumors had increased almost exponentially, and Janai was disturbed to realize that not everyone thought this was external sabotage. The more she listened, the more accusations she heard. No one mentioned Shehu--who _still_ hadn't got back to Janai, despite her requests to have their information forwarded from Xadia--but she heard other names, ones she vaguely recognized. Other staffers, from a variety of departments.

At this point, though, Janai didn't know whether she should actually suspect any of them. The continued silence of Shehu was growing increasingly suspicious, and Janai was half-convinced by now that whoever had gotten into the embassy systems had intentionally set Shehu up as a patsy, to take the fall without ever getting the chance to defend themself. How else could she explain the lack of response from anyone on the Xadian side? If, somehow, Janai's messages were being intercepted, flagged for keywords, perhaps....

It would help, she decided, if she knew just what information people had pointing toward the staffers in her own building. And unlike with Shehu, she _could_ track at least some of them down.

She ducked into her room, rummaging through her drawers until she found the little journal she'd bought ages ago, not long after the war, on the advice of a therapist who she'd eventually ghosted. It had felt too much like giving up control, and especially back then, she'd clung to that control with everything she had.

When had she begun to change? To grow weary of holding onto the past, weary enough that a determined woman could break through her defenses in just a handful of days?

 _A therapist could probably help you figure that out,_ she told herself wryly, trying not to feel embarrassed as she dug out the little golden key that unlocked the journal. The 'lock' was a joke--even a child could have picked it in moments, driven by nothing more than idle curiosity--but it had made her feel better at the time, and that had been the important part.

Janai grimaced now, flipping through the handful of used pages. Awkward attempts to analyze her emotions, her scrawled notes growing messier until she'd given up entirely. She considered ripping them out, but settled for just taping them to the book's front cover, leaving the first clean page free for an entirely different set of notes.

She wrote a quick list on the back of her last journal entry, detailing all the names she'd heard in the corridors. The scheduling and transfer departments had quieted down by now--she could start from there and work through the affected areas of the embassy in order, or as close to order as she could glean from the rapidly shifting situation.

Tucking the journal into her purse, she strode out to find her first interviewee.

Unsurprisingly, Scheduling Tech Orhi was less than enthused to have someone asking for him, especially someone as high-ranking as Janai. “I mean no disrespect, General," he said warily, "but I've already been questioned today by Embassy Security. I've done nothing wrong.”

"Yes, I read the transcript of your interview," Janai said. "And from your answers, it seemed to me that not only are you innocent, but it's possible you were specifically targeted. Can you think of any reason why that might be?"

To her relief, Orhi brightened significantly, and began detailing anything he could think of that might help her inquiries. A good fifteen minutes later, Janai closed the journal at last. Thanked Orhi for his time and took her leave, moving on to the next person on her list. Lawal was fairly new to the transfer department, which was suspicious--could they be a plant? Or was it possible that they’d been framed _because_ they were newer?

Janai sighed, shaking her head. The effort of holding several conflicting possibilities in her mind at once was nothing new, though she’d never been fond of it. She’d had to do much the same during the war. That had been for things like troop movements, however.

And enemy motivations, she supposed, which might be where her inquiries were heading.

Lawal had little more information than Orhi, but that wasn’t the point by now. She was building her knowledge base, looking for trends in the data she had gathered. As of yet, she’d found nothing, but the day was young. Maintenance next, then the records department, each successive visit adding a little more information. Making her a little more suspicious. Was she imagining patterns where there were none, or were the staffers she interviewed the ones most _favorable_ toward Katolis?

As she left the building security office, Janai checked the time. Already after five. Amaya would be at the DCC soon, and Janai wanted to see if she could justify the trip--

She heard a door burst open somewhere nearby, releasing a wave of sound. Shouting, in a number of voices. Some frantic, some barking orders. The clatter of metal, heavy thumps--a fight?

Unthinking, Janai rushed toward the scene, and was brought up short as two staffers in red-and-gold scrubs carried an empty stretcher down a cross-corridor at speed. The shouting was clearer now, though the chaos hadn’t yet abated. It took all Janai’s concentration to pick voices from the clamor. She ignored frightened whimpers, spared little attention for bellowed accusations--though this last did include references to food, and she realized with a wrench in her gut that there’d been a state dinner planned for this afternoon. What had happened there?

The stressed-but-deliberate words of the person giving orders grew clearer as Janai approached, though she stayed close to the wall so as not to impede the flow of medical supplies. “--city ambulance is already on the way. You, you, and you will accompany the ambulance as guards. Yes, catering is already on lockdown. No one in, no one out, until we can investigate. You--find out who approved the menu.” Then, quieter, audible only as Janai rounded the final corner and found Security Chief Hassan directing traffic, “If this is another ‘computer glitch’, it’s an awfully convenient one.”

“Report, Chief?” Janai asked, once she was certain Hassan had stopped giving orders for the moment.

Hassan glanced up, surprised, and nodded faintly when she recognized Janai. “Katolian delegate. Named Marcos.” Janai winced, and Hassan gave a wry nod. “Complained of dizziness mid-meal, then stopped breathing. No one else was affected, so we don't think it was poisoning, but—” Someone shouted for Hassan, and she grimaced, giving Janai an apologetic salute before striding off.

Janai frowned thoughtfully. A Katolian delegate named Marcos--she remembered him, to her surprise. She could picture the name written into her dayplanner. A fleeting impression of dark hair and hazel eyes. They’d been seated near one another at a luncheon in Janai’s first week here, and he'd mentioned an allergy to mangoes. She’d retained the information only because her brother had the same allergy, and it wasn’t common.

“He’s breathing!” came a call from down the hall, and the tenor of the tumult changed--still accusatory, though not quite so panicked. “Ambulance is here--let’s get him to the front doors.”

“Back into the banquet hall, all of you, until we can get this sorted out,” Hassan ordered, chivvying well-dressed Katolians out of the hallway, and the door closed at last to relative silence.

Janai watched the other Xadian staffers disperse, now the crisis was past. Talking quietly among themselves, casting suspicious or worried glances at the door to the banquet hall. “I don’t understand,” said a passing waiter. “We cleared the menu for allergens, I don’t know how it would have....”

Their voice grew too faint for Janai to hear, but she stared after them for a long, long moment. Then she hastily pulled up the Katolian dossier database, using her clearance to get more than just the publicly-available information. She scrolled down, glancing through the notes--

And there it was. ‘Allergies: none.’

She sucked in a sharp breath, staring down at the innocuous words. This was more than a glitch, more than a prank. This was deliberate. Attempted murder, at the very least. And Janai had no idea whether the change had been made by someone inside the embassy, or someone trying to _frame_ the embassy.

On a hunch, she took several screenshots of the file, making certain to include identifying details along with the inaccurate allergy information. Should she message them to herself? No--if there was someone going through the embassy’s files, and her email in particular, the last thing she needed to do was call attention to herself now. She settled for making several copies in various places on her phone’s harddrive and SD card. It felt paranoid, but at this point, her paranoia seemed to be justified.

She swapped back to the file, scrolling through to see if she’d missed anything--and gasped, icy shock numbing her fingers.

‘Allergies: mangoes’, it now read.

 _Someone is in our files. Someone is changing them,_ right now _, to try and turn Katolis against us._

Janai turned and strode determinedly toward the security office, swallowing a surge of regret as she noticed the time. As much as it pained her, she wouldn’t be making it to Amaya’s community center tonight.

And as she tapped her keycard on the sensor beside the office door, she spared a thought for _why does not seeing her twice in one day upset me almost as much as the fact that someone’s trying to push a wedge between our countries again?_

Thinking of Amaya’s smile, her honesty and her open warmth, Janai was terribly afraid that she knew the answer.

###### 

Amaya stepped out of the taxi with a grateful wave, and drew a deep breath as she looked Viren’s house over. She rarely stopped by here, and every time she did, she couldn’t shake the impression that she was looking at the cover of a magazine. Delicately landscaped yard, winding front walkway, water features and gabled roofs and perfectly contrasting trim on the windows. The house could have been painted yesterday, its lines were so crisp and clean.

And... it looked so _sterile_. Even the curtains pulled deliberately back from a front window showed a ‘family room’ that could have been the set for a movie, everything placed just so. The only thing out of place in all that perfection was a scuffed basketball hoop in one corner of the wide driveway, paint worn off its rim from years of use and abuse.

To Amaya's relief, the door burst open as she strode up the wide, curving path, and Soren barreled from the house without bothering to close the door behind him. She laughed, dropping her bag and her food on the lawn so she could sweep him off his feet into a tight hug. He looked different here at home, unconcerned with public perceptions. Bright and smiling, dressed in workout clothes that had probably cost about as much as Amaya's favorite leather jacket. She ruffled his hair and signed, "I've lifted soldiers lighter than you, kid. How've you been packing all that muscle on?"

He watched her carefully, puzzling out the meaning of her signs, and grinned once he'd figured out the compliment. "I've got a pretty good regimen, you know," he bragged, walking backward so he could keep enthusing about push-ups and burpees while he led Amaya toward the house.

She bit back a grimace at the thought of heading into that picture-perfect house, and caught his attention when he stopped to take a breath. "It's a nice day," she signed. "Can we eat outside?"

"Oh, sure!" Soren said. "I'll go grab a blanket. We can have a picnic!"

Amaya flashed him a grateful smile, and he gave her a thumbs-up before rushing away. Sprinting, actually. He was definitely showing off, and she couldn't help but wonder whether this was normal teenage enthusiasm, or whether he was just desperate for attention from someone resembling a parent.

She firmly reminded herself to keep things casual. She could analyze later. Right now, her only priority was spending some time with family.

...Well, that and finding out whether Claudia could help with the embassy, but since the two kinda went together, she wasn't going to worry about that.

Soren dashed back out a moment later with a thick blanket, which he tossed haphazardly onto the manicured lawn. Amaya settled onto it, opening the pizza box with a flourish, and pulled out her notebook as Soren grabbed a slice. "You can talk instead of writing, if you want," she wrote, smiling at the blissful look on his face as he bit into hot greasy cheese. "Your lips are easier to read than your handwriting, I'm afraid."

She set the notebook down where he could read it, and laughed at his exaggerated glare. "You know it's true," she signed.

"...Yeah," he said, his expression shifting to sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. He brightened again a moment later. "But my tutor says my sign's getting way better! I can already tell a lot more of what you're saying, even though it's hard to remember what I'm supposed to say back."

"That'll come with practice," Amaya wrote. "You should try conversing with people even when I'm not around. Do any of your classmates study? Or you could talk to Callum. He could use the practice, too."

Soren grimaced. "Yeah, but Callum's a _nerd_ ," he argued, laughing when Amaya leveled an unimpressed look at him. "Fine, I'll give it a try. But just 'cause I don't like him being better than me."

The conversation drifted from there, through recent events at the dojo and at their respective schools. Soren was mid-anecdote about his eccentric math teacher when motion from behind him caught Amaya's gaze, and she glanced over to find Claudia slipping from the house, closing the door behind herself.

As always, Claudia looked vaguely ethereal and abstracted, like she'd just stopped by to visit from some other plane of existence. Her lacy blouse and skirt were a century or more out of date, in shades as dark as her long hair, though they fit her impeccably. Whatever Viren's flaws, he at least spared no expense in making sure his children dressed the way they wanted.

Amaya waved, and Claudia's face lit up. "Hello!" she signed, then hiked her skirts neatly up and rushed over to settle on the blanket beside her brother, though not close enough that he could pinch her if he got bored. "It's always nice to see you, auntie!"

Soren mumbled something around a mouthful of food, unreadable save for the word 'pizza'. Claudia wrinkled her nose at him, but accepted a slice and a napkin from Amaya, biting into the pizza crust-first. As long as Amaya had known Claudia, she'd always been particular about eating the crust first on anything from sandwiches to pie, and Soren had long since given up teasing her about it.

"So, what do people at your tournaments think when you show up dressed like that?" Amaya wrote.

Claudia laughed. "They only underestimated me the first couple of times," she said. "After that it became a meme—people joke that I'm so good because I'm secretly a misinformed time-traveler." She nudged Soren's knee. "You should try it out sometime, Sor-bear. I wanna see you at the dojo in a frock coat."

Soren shook his head, fingers pinched into an emphatic 'no'. "Not gonna happen," he said, swallowing the remains of his third slice of pizza. Then he brightened. "You should definitely come see me at the dojo on Friday, though! It's been ages since you saw my moves—Aunt Amaya, tell her about how I threw you last week!"

"It's true, he did," Amaya wrote. "Twice. It was very impressive." She frowned then. "Although I might have to cancel Friday's class, I'm afraid. I'm working with Harrow on the peace summit, and I'll probably be on-call all day."

Soren's face fell when he read this. "Stupid Xadia," he said. "Ruining everything."

Claudia glanced up from where she'd been staring distractedly at something in the grass. "Dad's not looking forward to the ball on Saturday, but he's going to support Harrow," she said. "I assume you'll be there, too?"

"I will, as a temporary ambassador," Amaya wrote, and hesitated. For a moment, she'd considered telling Soren and Claudia about all she'd done that week, but she was abruptly hesitant to do so. Soren's knee-jerk reaction had hit uncomfortably close to home—this time last week, she might have scolded him half-heartedly, but she wouldn't have necessarily disagreed with him. It was only now—after having spent so much time with Janai, learning about her and her people in such a personal manner—that she realized just how much contempt she'd held for Xadia, despite her lofty claims of peace and integration.

"Couldn't Harrow get anyone else to play babysitter for a week?" Soren complained. "Like Fen. He's not doing anything useful. Send him over to make nice with everybody."

Amaya shuddered at the thought of Janai having to put up with Fen's insensitive questions and obnoxious habits. "I don't mind it," she wrote. "I'm a good fit for the job, and _someone_ here has to be a responsible adult." She folded her arms and struck a dramatic pose, grinning when Soren laughed. "Besides, I don't think Fen knows what the word 'diplomacy' means."

Claudia nodded sagely, turning her attention back to her phone as she spoke. "Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good," she said, frowning softly as she swiped her finger across her phone screen.

The sentiment made Amaya blink, uneasy—she recognized the style as a Viren quote, likely verbatim. She wondered for a moment what they saw in him, then smothered the reflexive thought. He was their father. They knew him far better than Amaya did, and he was all the family they had left. As obnoxious as he could be at times, it was obvious he loved his children, despite his flaws.

She let out a long breath. These worries could come after the summit. She didn't want to ruin the lighthearted tone of their picnic, and she still had things to ask of Claudia. "Speaking of sacrifices for the greater good, Claudia, how's school?" she wrote.

Claudia smiled, still barely looking up from whatever she was doing on her phone. Amaya didn't mind—she knew that was how Claudia best kept track of conversations. "Going well," Claudia said. "I'm acing my concurrent courses, and I've got some personal projects on the side that have been pretty successful the past couple of days." Something lit on her phone, and she glanced aside at her brother. "Hey, Dad wants to know if you can go to Amaya's Wednesday class instead, since Friday's a no-go."

Soren lit up, looking to Amaya for confirmation. "Can I?" he asked, an enthusiastic 'please' circling on his chest. "I know it's technically the advanced class, and last week was a special case—but you said I was doing really well, and I'm gonna be a senior next year. Even if I don't know the moves yet, I could get used to how you do things on Wednesdays?"

"Of course," Amaya wrote automatically. If it turned out the class was too difficult for him, it would still be good for him to try. "I know you'll do your best. You always do."

Soren beamed, fist-pumping. "Thank you!"

Amaya grinned at him. Was it too much to hope that Viren was actually making more of an effort to be involved with Soren's extracurriculars? "Will you be coming, too, Claudia?" she asked. "You could be his cheering section."

"I can't," Claudia said, with an apologetic grimace. "I'm super busy this week. There's an event coming up, and Dad and I are working hard for it. I know you'll be great, though," she said, reaching over to ruffle Soren's hair.

He scowled, smacking half-heartedly at her hand. "Hey, you're the _little_ sister, that's _my_ job," he complained, though Claudia ducked away as he swiped at her head. She poked him in the ribs instead, and the conversation devolved into a brief tickle fight that sent the empty pizza box sliding across the lawn and knocked Claudia's phone into the grass.

Claudia emerged the victor, probably because Soren let her win. She readjusted the collar of her shirt with a huff, though the corner of her mouth quirked with amusement. She retrieved her phone, buffing it on her skirt, and navigated away from the calendar app that had opened during the scuffle.

The sight recalled Amaya to the embassy's troubles. "Claudia," she wrote, "someone asked me about cybersecurity the other day. You’re my favorite expert—do you know a good company I could recommend?"

Claudia frowned thoughtfully, launching into a series of questions that Amaya was hard-pressed to answer without giving away who she was asking for and why. Fortunately, her vague answers only had the effect of making the list of possibilities longer. Claudia was texting the details over when she glanced up, her entire countenance growing brighter. "Hey!" she yelled, waving, and Amaya turned to see Callum on the sidewalk behind them, looking startled but pleased.

"Hey, yourself!" he said, readjusting his school bag and hurrying over to the group, signing a quick hello to Amaya on the way. "Is this a special occasion? I don't usually see you here, Aunt Amaya."

"Do I need an excuse to spend time with my second-favorite set of niblings?" she signed to him, laughing. "Where are you heading off to, this late in the day?"

Callum thumped down next to Claudia, and Amaya didn't miss the shy glances they traded. She bit back a grin. "On the way home from art club," he said, signing along with his words. "We're planning an exhibition next month! And I get half a panel to display my sketches!"

Amaya applauded, fingers shaking excitedly beside her head. "Congratulations!" she signed, smiling as Callum took up the role of interpreter. "Have you decided on a theme? Or is it going to be an assortment?"

He ducked his head. "I still haven't figured that out," he confessed. "But I've got time. What about you? King Harrow says you're helping him out this week."

"It's keeping me busy," Amaya signed wryly. "Are you and Ezran going to be at the ball on Saturday?"

"Ez is," Callum said. "Crown Prince and all. I still haven't decided yet. I kinda want to go, but knowing me, I'd say the wrong thing and accidentally start a diplomatic incident."

Claudia laughed and nudged him. "Why do it accidentally when you can do it on purpose?" she asked. "If one mistake is enough to stop these peace talks, then maybe they're not a good idea after all."

"Aren't you still in debate?" Amaya asked, hoping to head off this thread of the conversation. "Think of it as practice."

Callum grimaced. "Don't remind me," he said. "I hate it, but I hate it less than I hated football. Or martial arts. No offense, Aunt Amaya."

Amaya smiled wryly—it had been clear to her from the beginning that Callum was only attending her lessons to try and please his stepfather. She'd let him know in no uncertain terms that if he wasn't enjoying himself, she wasn't going to force him to stay. "None taken. Though I'm glad you're in at least one extracurricular you enjoy. And Idan told me your Hebrew pronunciation has improved, though you apparently can’t stop making puns." Callum rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and Amaya laughed. "How are the rest of your classes going?"

He brightened, talking about how he'd brought himself up to a B-average lately. Amaya congratulated him again, though as he talked, she couldn't help but notice subtle differences between him, Soren, and Claudia. Callum seemed _happy_ , even when talking about classes he disliked. Claudia's nervous distraction and Soren's attempts to dominate the conversation were cast into sharper contrast the more Callum spoke.

"—and there's a Xadian exchange student in my homeroom," he enthused, and Amaya didn't miss the sudden tension in Claudia's posture. "She's really cool—I haven't really talked to her, but I've seen her in gym class. She's a shoo-in for gymnastics or track, definitely. And she's got those markings on her face, so I guess she's from a military family? They look like tattoos, but didn't you say they weren't permanent, Aunt Amaya?"

Amaya's fist bobbed in a 'yes'. "It's a semipermanent paint, I think," she signed, hiding a smile at the recollection of the gold lines glimmering on Janai's cheeks. Around her eyes. "Waterproof, smudgeproof, but you can remove or change it if you want to."

"I should ask her about them sometime," he mused. "Unless that would be weird. Would that be weird? I don't wanna offend her. Some of the other kids try to give her trouble, but she's pretty good at fending them off."

"I bet she is, the bloodthirsty menace," Claudia said. Whispered? Neither Callum nor Soren reacted to the comment, so maybe it hadn't been voiced.

Amaya wondered, troubled, whether she'd ever been that overt about her own distaste for Xadia. She tried to assure herself that Claudia was merely jealous, to hear Callum talking so enthusiastically about someone else. That Claudia wasn't actually as xenophobic as she appeared. But... with a father like Viren, how could she be anything else?

"I didn't know you were that into Xadia," Soren scoffed, finishing off his fifth slice of pizza.

Callum shrugged, his usual goofy demeanor softening into something more thoughtful. "I mean, they're on everyone's mind a lot lately, with the summit," he said. "I know how hard King Harrow and Aunt Amaya have worked for this. And I know how hard the war was on Katolis. I'm not an ambassador or anything, and I'm not even technically royalty, but I figure it can't hurt for me to learn more about Xadia."

"Why don't you make that the subject of your exhibition?" Amaya suggested. "Comparison and contrast. Sketches of things from both countries."

"Oh, I love that!" Callum said, pulling out his phone. "I'll set a reminder so I can propose it next meeting."

From the corner of her eye, Amaya saw Claudia's brows draw sharply down, her mouth twisting with—frustration? Disgust? She huddled over her own phone, tapping surreptitiously at it. Messaging a friend about Xadia? Or about the boy she liked, and his interest in someone else?

"How's Ezran doing?" Amaya asked, once again returning the conversation to neutral topics. She couldn't stay much longer, and she didn't want to leave them on a sore subject. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to stop by and see you kids lately, but we can plan something for after the summit."

Callum rolled his eyes. "You know Ez," he said, though his smile was fond. "Sneaking into the kitchens, hiding from his tutors, spending all his free time at the local animal shelter. He told me the other day that he wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up, except he knows I'd be hopeless at being King without him."

Amaya laughed so hard she had to prop herself up on the blanket with one shaking hand. "That sounds like Ez," she signed, once she'd caught her balance. "Tell him I love him, okay? And once all this business with the peace treaty is over, I'll take you out somewhere. The two of you can decide where."

A thought occurred to her then—would it be all right for her to bring Katolis' princes to the Xadian Outreach Centre? There would likely be security concerns, and she'd have to choose the event carefully. But the thought of showing them all the things Janai had shown her recently made her shiver with excitement.

Then she thought of introducing Janai to her family, and she took a deep breath, biting her cheek to keep a nervous, foolish grin from spreading across her face. She would have to text Callum later, encourage him to accompany his father and brother to the ball—

Her phone buzzed, an alarm to let her know she needed to head over to the DCC now. She sighed, chasing thoughts of Janai from her mind. It wasn't as though the two of them were... anything to one another. Fellow ambassadors only. Still, it would be good for Katolis' royal family to become more familiar with Xadia's, would it not?

"I should get going," she signed, with a wry smile at the disappointment on Soren's face. "But I'll see you again soon, okay? I love you all."

All three kids signed 'Love you' in return, and Amaya doled out hugs before packing up to leave. She caught sight of Callum making his own goodbyes as well, and the two of them left together as Claudia started cleaning up the remains of the picnic.

"See you later," Callum signed, starting to head away.

Amaya recalled the phone in her bag and tapped his shoulder. "Wait," she signed, then dug out the box. Callum's eyes widened as she handed it over. "I got this as a gift, but I don't need it," she signed. "And I know you've been wanting a new phone."

Callum grinned up at her. "Wow, thanks!" he signed, and gave her another tight hug, awkward around their respective bags. "Have a good night, Aunt Amaya!"

"You, too," she signed, and turned to head into town, her heart pounding with every step. She couldn't help but hope Janai would be at the DCC. Waiting.

Waiting for the list of cybersecurity companies.

Maybe… waiting for a chance to spend time with Amaya?


	6. Conflict

Janai glared up at the clock in the embassy lobby as she stormed through, trying not to feel like a petulant child who’d been denied a treat. 

Her time this week getting to know the various embassy departments was paying off, at least—Security had believed her without question, jumping into action as soon as she'd explained the situation with Marcos's allergy information. She'd found herself roped into the action almost as an afterthought, and went along with a reluctance she wouldn’t have imagined last week.

 _Because why,_ she thought, hefting a box of computer equipment so it sat more securely in her arms, _would I ever think I might find myself upset that I couldn’t follow_ General Amaya _through her Monday night activities?_

She fumbled her keycard, nearly dropping it before she could press it to the pad beside the door, and winced at the noise level as she shouldered the door open. Techs descended upon her at once, pulling items from the box before she could even set it down—if she _could_ figure out a place to set it down, that was. Most of the flat surfaces in the IT office were occupied, by folders and hard drives and tangles of cords.

Janai had been as surprised as any of them to find herself volunteering for gofer duties. It was growing increasingly difficult, however, to find anyone in the building who wasn’t scrambling to get some aspect of the summit back on track, from catering to decorations to security. Not to mention—

"General?" one of the techs called, beckoning her over. "We've got these reports backed up. Do they need to be transferred anywhere, or can we delete them?"

Someone took the box from Janai, to her relief, the better to dig through it as Janai picked her way across the room. She leaned forward, peering over the tech's shoulder.

Her eyes widened as she realized why the tech had brought the question to her, specifically. 

She'd written these reports herself, sometime in the fargone past. 

Janai scanned down the page, skimming the information there. Brief, succinct précis of troop movements, ground gained and lost. Uneasiness coiled in her gut as she read—she could see now how she’d let contempt bleed even into these impersonal notes, scorn for Katolis and all it stood for.

When had that begun to change? Had it truly been so recently? Her notes and asides felt so petty now, refusing to acknowledge that much of the time, both sides had been in the wrong. But there hadn’t been _room_ for anything but black-and-white thinking back then. Hesitation would get you killed.

Janai shook her head, snapping herself out of such melancholy. "No, no need to transfer," she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "You can delete those."

The tech nodded, dismissing her as they moved on to the next section of files, and Janai stepped back with a sigh, the beginnings of a dehydration headache tugging at her temples. She'd been running ragged since returning to the embassy, and it was starting to take its toll.

"I'll be back," Janai said to the room at large, not really caring if anyone heard her. Ducked out to the corridor, halting for a moment to lean against the wall and enjoy the relative quiet.

Her phone chimed in the stillness, snapping her back to attention. She groaned as she reached for it, anticipating yet another demand on her time.

Instead, the name at the top of the screen made her mouth curl up at the corners. “Sorry to hear you can’t make it tonight,” Amaya wrote, and followed with a selfie, her arm around a wide-eyed Kazi’s shoulders. Janai recognized the background as the community center’s common area. “Kazi tells me things are pretty wild over there. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

Janai pushed off from the wall, heading through the hallways toward the nearest drinking fountain as she typed. “I will,” she wrote back, wondering at her lack of hesitation. “Are we still on for lunch? Or have Kazi’s charms stolen you away?”

She hit the 'send' button and immediately regretted the action, the familiarity in her words. But her heart leapt when Amaya sent back a laughing emoji. “They’re doing their best, but our luncheons are now a longstanding diplomatic tradition. And if there’s anything our countries are both good at, it’s tradition.”

 _To our detriment, at times,_ Janai thought wryly, recalling the ridiculous pomp of their first official interaction. “I’m looking forward to it,” she wrote, dodging around a distracted staffer. “I have a feeling that by tomorrow noon, I’ll be well on the way to tearing my hair out in frustration. It’ll be good for me to get out of here.”

“I certainly hope things don’t fall that far,” Amaya replied. “Your hair is wonderful. I’d hate to see anything happen to it.”

Janai laughed. “That’s good to hear,” she wrote. Amaya didn’t answer right away, and Janai found herself scrolling up to look at the selfie again.

She pictured herself there, in the bright, cheerful bustle of Amaya’s world. Smiling with people who weren’t yet friends, but _could_ be, if Janai only made the effort. Pictured Amaya posing them all for another selfie, an arm over each of their shoulders, grinning for the camera.

Amaya’s arm warm around her, her breath chasing over Janai’s painted cheek, signing something rich with laughter--

Janai’s breath hitched, and she shoved her phone hurriedly back into her pocket. Her concentration was fragmented, but she forced herself to keep walking, to think only of her destination. Hoping the busywork would be enough to chase away the scattered images that had begun to clutter her mind while she slept, stealing their way into her waking hours.

She made it to the drinking fountain and halfway back up to IT before her resolve broke, and she ducked into a doorway to swipe another message. “Can I take a rain-check for tonight?” she asked, the request making her feel oddly bold. “Summit willing, things should be calmer by next week. If I put it into my schedule now, I can justify it as a ‘cultural experience’ to anyone inclined to argue.”

“I’d like that,” Amaya messaged back. She always responded so quickly. Janai remembered her in the cafe, tapping out the words without even glancing at her keyboard. She was probably carrying on a conversation with her other hand while she messaged Janai, effortless multitasking that had made her so invaluable during the war. “But if you need a break sooner, I haven’t canceled my Wednesday night class at the dojo. See if you can get away?”

Janai’s eyes crossed at the thought of seeing Amaya in her gi again, remembering the play of muscles in her arms as she’d thrown the mugger and held him down. “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “Maybe I’ll even get on the mat.”

“Hope you like being thrown,” Amaya wrote, with a winking emoji.

Janai laughed. “We’ll see about that,” she sent, and tucked her phone away again, buoyed through the rest of the corridors by the thought of finally getting a proper spar, the likes of which she hadn’t had since leaving Xadia.

Even though it would likely be the most emotionally confusing spar of Janai’s entire life.

 _Summit willing,_ she thought, repeating the words like a mantra.

_Summit willing, we’ll all get through this weekend intact._

###### 

“How did it go?” Gren asked, his signs rapid and eager, the moment he stepped into the classroom.

Amaya didn’t have to ask what he’d meant. He’d been growing increasingly enthusiastic about anything involving Janai ever since the tour. “Janai couldn’t make it,” she signed back, laughing as his shoulders slumped. “Embassy stuff. But Kazi had a blast demonstrating their favorite XSL signs for everybody, and I think Sunan might be roping them into a presentation about the similarities between the two languages. And another about the Deaf community in Lux Aurea. It’s been a long while since we had much cultural exchange with Xadia, so that promises to be fascinating.”

“That’s good, then,” Gren signed, settling onto his stool. “Have you heard from Janai, at least?”

Amaya blinked, startled--had she not told him they’d been having lunch together? Did she even want to, now, and risk him ribbing her all through class? “She scheduled herself for a ‘cultural experience’ next week,” she signed, laughing again when he visibly brightened at this news. “And she’s going to try to attend the dojo tomorrow. Oh, and so is Soren. If you don’t have plans, I’d appreciate you coming with me to interpret for the both of them.”

Gren nodded. “I’ll be there,” he promised, and then his grin widened again. “So, are you gonna _spar_?” This last sign was enthusiastic to the point of obnoxiousness.

“With Soren? Probably,” Amaya signed, and mimicked Gren’s exasperated expression. “You’re awfully quick to forget everything that happened during the war,” she signed, though there was no vehemence in the motions.

Gren shrugged, his hands moving almost before Amaya finished. “I studied Xadia for years, remember?" he pointed out. "I never wanted the war—peace was always my job. And I’ve seen a lot of you over the past few years. I know how much you regret what happened."

His smile went a little more smug. "I’ve _also_ seen how…” his fingers twitched for a moment as he searched for the right concept, “ _bright_ she makes you. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but whatever happened in the past, you’re clearly enjoying each other’s company now. Why dwell on what happened? Why not move on?”

He said this like it was so _easy_. Like he didn’t sometimes wake to an unexpected vibration in his floorboards and jolt upright, reaching for a weapon, ready to defend himself and his troops to the death if necessary.

And... maybe he didn’t. Gren hadn’t been on the battlefield, had stayed back as an aide-de-camp. Learning languages, exploring cultural biases. He’d seen the Xadians far clearer than the rest of them, perhaps--it was knowledge Amaya hadn’t been able to afford, when hesitation would have cost her everything. It had been better, back then, to think the enemy inhuman and monstrous, so she didn’t think about the fact that every time she felled a soldier, she was taking another person out of this world.

The past few years had allowed her more than her share of _that_ particular introspection. She’d stood before war monuments listing ‘those who’d died to protect Katolis’ and wondered, heartsick, whether she’d ever see the names of those Xadians she’d cut down.

Maybe Janai would show them to Amaya, if they ever got the chance....

“It’s not so easy,” Amaya signed, though she could think of no way to elaborate from there. Gren, bless him, didn’t press her. He just watched, supportive as always, while she struggled to find her footing.

She didn’t get a chance, as the door opened then, students filtering into the room. Amaya put all thoughts of the war, of Janai, from her mind--or as well as she could, considering today’s planned lecture. Forced a smile onto her face, signing hello to the students who passed her desk and set extra-credit reports onto it.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she signed, once all the desks were taken. “Today we’ll be continuing our study of the early days of the Xadian war, with a focus on misinformation and how it spread.”

Amaya turned to the board, began writing, but Gren caught her attention as she finished the first sentence. She turned to see Zane’s hand in the air, pointed to him.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Zane asked, his hands moving hesitantly as he spoke, “but didn’t I see you on campus the other day with a Xadian soldier? Was that for class?”

“I did, too!” Rivke enthused, belatedly raising her hand. “You’d told us about the facial markings, but they were a lot more impressive in person.”

So much for not thinking about her in class. Amaya kept her face carefully neutral. “You’re right,” she signed. “I was chaperoning the new Xadian ambassador as she prepared for the diplomatic summit at the end of the week.” She hesitated for a moment--but she _had_ been toying with the idea of asking Janai to observe one of her classes, though she hadn’t yet worked up to asking whether that was something Janai would be interested in. “I'm considering bringing her in as a guest lecturer at the end of this unit.”

A good half the class seemed excited by this news, though many of the others traded uneasy or skeptical glances as Amaya turned to tap the board. “For now, however, let’s get back to the subject of propaganda. For those of you who did the extra work over the weekend, what were some of the most common themes you found?”

She spent a good fifteen minutes debunking wild rumors and conspiracy theories, supporting her arguments with anecdotes from her time in Xadia. As she’d hoped, the class fell into a lively and engaging discussion about the spread of online misinformation, so rapid that she allowed herself to rely almost exclusively on Gren’s interpretations to make sense of the back-and-forth.

"But some of that's true," someone argued—was that Zane's name sign? Gren was moving so rapidly it was hard to tell. Amaya's mouth twisted, and she glanced up to see Zane glaring across the room at Naseer. "My brother was in the army, and he told me—"

"So was Professor A," Naseer signed, their brows drawn sharply down. "And I bet she's studied Xadia more than your brother—"

Someone else cut them off. Amaya missed the name sign; Gren was obviously hard-pressed to keep up with the discussion as it grew more heated. "They killed my uncle's whole squad! Burned, every one of them."

"Xadians are monsters," another student agreed. "This whole 'peace treaty' is probably just to get us to drop our guard—

"Are you saying you know better than the king?"

"I'm saying we don't know what they're capable of!"

"What about what _we're_ capable of? Our troops did some pretty bad—"

"Yeah, but they started it!"

Amaya leaned over and flicked the lightswitch off and on, and several students jumped, turning to look guiltily at the front of the room. "Enough," she signed. "This is getting off-track. Naseer, you were making a point about fact-checking on social media?"

Naseer nodded gratefully, continuing where they'd been signing before Zane had cut them off, and Amaya leaned her forearms on the lectern with a worried exhalation. The discussion picked back up, but Amaya could now see that several of her students were no longer participating. Some of them sat sullenly, poking at their notes or surreptitiously texting under their desks; others seemed to be holding a muttered conversation of their own.

The disaffected students were in the minority. But Amaya knew well that a determined minority could accomplish much, for good or for ill.

Watching them, Amaya found she wanted to bring Janai here more than ever, now. If Janai was all right with the risk of backlash, the deliberate exposure to people who might still wish harm upon her.

Amaya wanted, more than anything, to humanize 'the enemy', in the hope of snapping some of her students from their reflexive hatreds. To give them just a taste of the awakening she'd had over the past week, the realization of how similar their peoples really were.

She shook her head to clear it, and fell back into moderating the discussion.

When the bell rang at last, Amaya motioned for the last speaker to finish up while she wrote the homework on the board. “There’ll be no class on Thursday because of the summit,” she signed, turning back to the class as they packed up. “For extra credit, find and analyze a piece of media about it--an article, a news report, a blog post. I’ll see you all next Tuesday.”

As soon as students began leaving the room, Amaya leaned against the desk and pulled out her phone. Tapped on Janai’s contact--and hesitated. She’d already asked Janai to several events this week. It felt like too much, too soon, to ask anything more. If things went well at the dojo tomorrow, maybe she could reconsider.

Gren nudged her shoulder. “Something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I just don’t know what I want to do,” Amaya signed, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Or what I _should_ do.” She sighed, leaning back, propping one elbow on her desk. “I should just ask her on a date. A real one, not just a 'cultural exchange' trip. If she turns me down, fine, but at least I'll _know_. But I don’t want to do that until after the summit--she’s already dealing with so much at the embassy.” She glanced up, saw Gren watching her intently. “What?” she asked, wary.

“You don't just think she's cute, do you,” he signed, a teasing angle to his eyebrows. “You're emotionally invested. In someone from Xadia." He gave her a smug, proud-dad smile. "I never thought I’d see the day.”

Amaya swatted his arm. “She’s _interesting_ ,” she signed. “She’s nothing like I expected. I feel like…” her signs slowed, but she pushed through. “She might be able to understand me, understand things even you don’t. No offense.”

Gren shook his head, warding off her concerns for him. “I wasn’t there with you in the worst of it. She was, even if she was on the other side. It makes sense.”

“She’s also smoking hot,” Amaya signed, grinning as Gren doubled over, clutching his stomach with laughter. “What? I have eyes. She’s attractive, and she’s interesting, and I spent the better part of a decade trying to kill her. What’s not to like?”

“You have the strangest idea of what constitutes 'dating material',” Gren said, his every sign shaking with amusement.

That one sign brought Amaya up short. _Date._ Somehow, seeing it signed was different than signing it herself. It made it more real, more _tangible_ , to have someone else acknowledge this potential reality.

She frowned, tapping her fingers together, both hands shaped into the letter ‘D’. _Was_ that what she wanted? To ask Janai out? It felt far too soon for anything so… concrete. Amaya didn’t know if she wanted a ‘relationship’, if she was even relationship material. She’d spent so long just trying to get her own life together. Adding another person into her space so intimately felt huge, far larger than she wanted to think about right now.

“I want to be her friend,” Amaya signed at last, the realization coming to her. “If anything else develops from that, great. I’ll deal with that if it ever comes to that. But for now, becoming friends with her would be enough for me.”

Gren’s smile softened, and he rested one hand momentarily on Amaya’s arm. “That’s a great place to start," he signed. "Be friends, keep the hope for more on the back burner. Don’t be afraid to bring it up if the timing seems right.”

“Thanks,” Amaya signed, realizing as she did so that the light coming through the window was fading. It was a good thing she was the last person to use this classroom on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or she and Gren would have needed to clear out a while ago. She bent to retrieve her bag, slung it over her shoulder. “What did I ever do to deserve a friend as good as you?” she asked Gren, and pulled him into a quick hug.

He ruffled her hair, and she swatted at his hand. “I ask myself that about you all the time,” he signed, grinning, and picked up his own bag. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, _I’ve_ got a date with a smoking hot all-night arcade. There’s a DDR tournament tonight. See you tomorrow at the dojo?”

Amaya blew him a friendly kiss, fluttered a wave at him, and headed out of the classroom, an extra spring in her step at the reminder. Another chance to bring Janai into her space, to show a side of herself far removed from essays and pastries. A chance, maybe, to see another element of Janai herself. If that was what Janai wanted.

After the summit, she wondered, would Janai feel comfortable enough to invite Amaya into some of her own spaces?

And as Amaya’s steps fell at last into the familiar rhythm back to her apartment, she found herself smiling. Tomorrow, she thought, couldn’t come soon enough.

###### 

Janai growled under her breath, glancing at the clock on one wall of the security office. Recalculated timings in her head for probably the dozenth time. Ten minutes at least to get to the dojo, unless she ran there. At least five minutes to escape from the embassy, depending on who caught her in the hallways. Two minutes to duck into her room and change from embassy-formal to ‘something she wouldn’t mind fighting in’, already laid out on her bed—though she’d reconsidered that outfit choice half a dozen times since she’d got dressed that morning.

Amaya’s class started at five.

It was already four-thirty.

“Ok, left middle finger next,” said the security tech, typing away at Janai's file.

Janai pressed the indicated finger to the pad, watched the readout scan slowly across her fingerprint in excruciating detail, her right hand clenching into a frustrated fist. It had been a long, long night, backing up files and de-digitizing the embassy. The techs were now in the process of putting in new security systems, with an emphasis on the physical.

Which meant, unfortunately, that Janai's physical presence was required for every step, unless she wanted to be locked out of the embassy when she returned from the dojo.

“Left index,” the tech said, and Janai obeyed, glancing with narrowed eyes at the time. Four-thirty-six. She would be cutting things dangerously close if she left now, and she had no guarantee on how much longer this would take.

 _I could plead diplomatic duties,_ she thought. _Pull the ‘placating Katolis’ card._ But that was a card she only dared use sparingly, lest anyone start asking questions that Janai didn’t want to--or couldn’t--answer. Besides, this was actually important.

It was also mind-numbingly, agonizingly boring.

Janai thought longingly of the scene that awaited her when she at last managed to escape this black hole. Watching Amaya twist and dodge on the mat, testing her strength against the best this city had to offer. Perhaps Janai could even test that strength herself, if she worked up the courage to do so. A Xadian soldier approaching a Katolan general in her place of power and challenging her before witnesses… might not go so well, but if Janai dared--

“Just the left thumb now,” the tech said, and Janai pressed it to the pad on autopilot, lost in thought. Four-forty-two. She would be late, barring a miracle. Would she be able to slip in quietly, filter behind Amaya’s students when she wasn’t looking? She could see, in her mind’s eye, Amaya turning to address the class, seeing Janai standing there, her face lighting up just as it had that morning as Janai stepped into the cafe....

"All right, retinal scan is next," the tech said. Janai bit back the urge to swear as the light panned blindingly across her pupil, and strained to keep from blinking. She wished she'd thought to change when she'd first been told to report to the security office. It wasn't as though she was working as an ambassador here. Security could have dealt with Janai wearing yoga pants instead of suit trousers.

She’d been so hopeful at lunchtime, sitting and laughing with Amaya in the little cafe, reading through reports on Katolan memes and war posters. Some of the images had stung, but it had been fascinating to see the beginnings of the war through another’s eyes, fascinating to watch Amaya break down the meanings behind the cruel sentiments. She’d obviously spent a long time trying to understand the reasons for everything that had happened to them, everything they’d done to one another.

“Right eye done,” the tech said. “Now the left.”

Janai sucked in a deep breath, her vision unfocusing in self-defense. An image rising in her mind to overlay the blurred security office. There’d been one moment, in the cafe, that Janai was almost afraid to recall. A moment where Janai had been laughing, and Amaya had looked up at her with eyes that sparkled, sitting right beside Janai, sharing the same plate of scones. A moment where Janai had looked across at her opposite number and seen nothing more than a woman, bold and brave and beautiful, clever and witty and full of laughter despite everything, and she’d wanted....

Janai still wasn’t certain what she’d wanted. She’d turned away as soon as the moment registered, swapping her attention to her tea until the sensation had faded and she could face Amaya again.

"All right, we're nearly done here," the tech said. "Sit tight while I get this updated."

Janai nodded absently and pulled out her phone as the typing resumed, disappointment tugging at her. Four-forty-seven. “I’ll be running late,” she texted Amaya, glancing up every other word to see if the tech had finished yet. “But I’ll do anything I can to make it there tonight.”

The tech's voice made Janai jump. "Your dongle's being programmed. Someone will bring it by in a few."

"Thank you," Janai said, though she felt like screaming. The tech gave her an absent wave and returned their attention to the computer, paying her no further attention.

Janai began to pace the length of the small lobby area, staring at her phone and watching the minutes tick past. Four-fifty-one. Four-fifty-four. Four-fifty-eight.

Five-oh-two. She was officially late.

Janai dropped her cellphone onto a lobby chair in frustration, flopped down in the chair beside it. She wanted to find whoever had designed the embassy’s file systems and curse them out until their ears bled. She wanted to march down the hall to the techs and order them to _work faster, dammit_. She wanted to track down the hacker and… well, she didn’t know _what_ she’d do if she found the person responsible for her current predicament, but a handbook of ancient interrogation techniques sprang immediately to mind.

"General Janai?"

Janai jumped, grabbing for her phone as someone ducked into the security office. "Your dongle, ser," the harried tech said, handing over a small flat device, heavy black plastic with a dangling keyring. They launched into a detailed description of how to use it, how to keep it safe, dire warnings about what would happen if she lost it. The onslaught was overwhelming, and Janai had to take quick notes in the back of her dayplanner to keep from getting completely lost.

The moment they finished, she thanked the tech, stuffed her planner into her bag, and rushed from the room, glancing at her phone as she ran. Five-twenty-four. She would be late, but she would be _there_.

To her relief, the new fingerprint scanner on her door accepted her without complaint, and with a tap of her badge, her door swung open. She dashed over to the bed, already stripping out of her pinstriped jacket, and replaced her blouse with a fitted tee. Bright red, the sunburst of Lux Aurea embroidered over her heart. She swapped out her suit trousers and dress boots in record time, tossed her suit roughly into the hamper beside her closet, and ran.

Janai took the corridors as fast as she dared, not breaking into a sprint until she’d successfully navigated the maze of staffers. Her sneakers pounded against the Katolis pavement, and she blessed the past couple days’ work on the treadmill, already easing back into the rhythm of running. 

She would have to make it up to Amaya, she thought, weaving through the city streets. Maybe take her back to the bakery, see what else on their menu wasn’t too sweet.

Janai ran, fueled by thoughts of Amaya, students arrayed around her. In her element, teaching others. _Helping_ others.

And as she ran, she wondered, _Could she teach me to be like that, too?_

###### 

Amaya sat in one corner of the dojo, stretching, greeting people as they filtered in from the changing rooms. A few of the students glanced curiously at Gren; Amaya didn’t usually bother employing his services for her Wednesday classes. The students here already knew the signs for individual moves, and she used a stick to keep time during drills.

She offered no explanation, and no one bothered to ask. Good. If Janai made it here, Amaya didn’t want to call attention to her without permission.

“I’ll be running late,” her text had read. The words had upset Amaya more than she’d expected. Not at Janai, just at the situations they kept finding themselves thrown into, but she was still struggling to find her center.

Then Soren stepped through the door, and Amaya finished her stretch, pushed herself up. She signed an enthusiastic hello, smiling at the grin on his face as he caught sight of her. “Hey, Soren,” she signed, Gren standing beside her to interpret. “Ready to get your butt kicked?”

Soren laughed. “I've been practicing all week,” he said, flexing one bicep. “Just wait—I might surprise you.”

“I bet you will,” Amaya signed, then tilted her head toward the main floor of the dojo, where most of the other students were already seated. “We're about to start—let Gren know if you need anything explained, okay?”

He nodded, taking his place beside the mat with studious solemnity, and Amaya strode into the center of the room. She started the lecture with a brief description of her plans for tonight, though she couldn't stop glancing toward the door, as though expecting to see a red-and-gold figure striding through at any moment.

“I’ll do anything I can to make it there,” Janai had texted. Amaya could picture the earnestness in the woman’s face as she’d typed those words, her determination to show up despite what the embassy might throw at her.

Amaya faltered, re-centered herself, demonstrating a complicated block-and-pin maneuver. Called up the first student to try it out. She forced herself to stop looking over at the door, to keep her focus entirely on her students. She owed them her full attention, not some half-hearted attempt because she was distracted by her own personal problems.

Unfortunately, it seemed she wasn't the only one distracted today. She had to beckon Ariel twice before he noticed and came up to the mat, and Sasha's form was sloppier than it had been in months. "What's going on?" she asked in a quick aside to Gren as Sasha went to sit back down. "Everyone seems a lot more restless than usual. Did I miss something?"

"There's a lot of chatter about the summit," he signed back. "Mostly just civvie talk, but some of it's getting a bit heated."

Amaya sighed. "Of course it is." She bit back a grimace and turned to beckon up the next student, but a commotion in one corner of the room caught her gaze.

She turned to see Rashid and Beth facing off, red-faced and obviously working their way up to shouting at one another. Amaya wasn't surprised—the two had always been competitive, always trying to outdo one another at tournaments. What was surprising, however, was when Binesi stepped up in favor of Rashid. Usually the class let the two of them duke it out themselves—once or twice the other students had even placed surreptitious bets.

Today, though, it seemed that tensions were boiling over on all sides.

Amaya tried to step in and defuse the situation, but quickly discovered she'd lost control of the class. Many of the students started taking sides, and once Beth started shoving people, Amaya found herself turning out the lights on an argument for the second time in two days.

"Enough," she signed, her expression stormy enough to make the main combatants blink sheepishly at her. "If you're not willing to act like adults, then class is over for this week. I have more important things to do than stand here and watch you get into a slap-fight."

She leaned back against the wall, her arms folded angrily over her chest. Hesitantly—some casting apologetic glances back at Amaya, others still arguing with one another and paying her little mind—her students began to file out of the room.

Soren lingered, gritting his teeth as he watched the others leave, and some of Amaya's annoyance dissipated. She strode over and put one hand on his shoulder. "Hey, kid. I'm really sorry about that," she signed, and offered him a half-hearted smile. "Guess the 'adult' class isn't always as mature as I'd hoped."

He sighed, folding his arms, disappointment heavy in the set of his shoulders. "It's the stupid summit again," he said. "Everyone at school's been talking about it, and a lot of the time people start arguing. And I keep overhearing Dad and Claudia talk about how much trouble it's causing, and how things aren't going to plan." He grimaced. "I don't know what Harrow's got Dad doing, but he and Claudia hole up in the study for hours at a time. I keep having to order dinner in 'cause he forgets about it."

Amaya raised an eyebrow. As a high-ranking member of the Council, Viren's job usually involved in-person direction, not anything to do with computers. She supposed, however, that if Harrow was having computer issues on the leadup to the summit—as Xadia was—that Viren would be one of the most qualified to deal with them.

She eyed the petulant curve of Soren's mouth. "C'mere," she signed, leading him toward the locker room. Pulled her wallet from the pocket of her jeans and tugged out a few bills. "Donuts are good for disappointment," she told him. "You and Gren should head down to the bakery, wait for your dad there. I'll join you soon."

This appeared to mollify him, if only a little. "Thanks," he signed, a smile flickering on his face as he took the cash. He and Gren left the room, leaving Amaya alone.

She sighed, settling onto one of the long, slatted wooden benches, and sent off a quick text telling Viren that she'd sent Soren to wait at the bakery. Then she leaned back, staring up at the lights set into the locker room's ceiling.

Her friends would be waiting for her. She should swap to street clothes, head out, but... something held her back. Despite it all, she still wanted to see Janai here. To demonstrate some moves, show her how different Katolis hand-to-hand was from Xadian. To... show off, really.

"I had to cancel class," Amaya typed, after several failed starts, and agonized over what to put next. "Nothing to do with you. But you're still welcome to stop by, if you want."

Amaya stared at the text, reached for 'send', stopped herself. Berated herself for stopping herself. She was overthinking this, she knew she was—she should just press the button, see what happened—

A wave of force slammed into her, knocking her to the floor, and her world lit with a blinding flash.


	7. Shock and Awe

“ _Amaya!_ ”

Janai, still sprinting toward the building, screamed the woman’s name. Realized a moment later how useless that was. She didn’t care. She wanted to scream again, if only it would let her find Amaya faster.

_What was that explosion? How many people were inside? Is the building stable, gutted--how big was the explosion, was there shrapnel, fire--_

She was hyperventilating, and she almost didn’t care--but if she passed out, she couldn’t find Amaya. She gulped air, desperately trying to get her breathing under control.

Sirens already sounded in the distance. She’d discounted them while she ran, used to the sound, but now she _hoped_. Hoped that their presence meant Amaya was safe, that someone had called in a bomb threat and the building had been evacuated.

Janai skidded to a halt as she reached the sidewalk, nausea coiling in her stomach at the stench of burning wood and cloth. Spotted two people in gi like Amaya’s, standing some distance from the dojo, conversing in low tones. They looked… shocked. Stunned. It was an expression Janai recognized from the battlefield.

It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen here, in Amaya’s city, and its presence tore at her heart.

She rushed up to them. “Are you from Amaya’s class?” she asked, and when one of the figures nodded, she pressed onward. “Did she make it out? Have you seen her?”

The other person shook their head. “She dismissed us early,” they said, their voice shaking almost too much for Janai to understand. “But no, I didn’t see her leave....”

Janai cursed, spun, surged back toward the dojo. Fire ate steadily at the contents of the room beyond the shattered front window, smoke billowing into the evening air... but the structure of the building itself seemed sound, the walls still standing. Brick and stone, not the plaster and wood of the family homes she’d walked past in the quieter neighborhoods.

 _I am Sunfire,_ Janai told herself, squaring her shoulders, staring down the flames. _I won’t be held back by something so insignificant._

She took a deep breath. Tugged the fabric of her shirt over her mouth and nose, a rudimentary barrier against the smoke. Rushed over to the building's side door, centering herself on one leg, and aimed a precise heel-kick at the door's latch. All her weight, all the power of hard-won muscle, focused on that one small bit of metal.

The latch snapped, and the door swung open with a clang, revealing a dark hallway half-hidden by a choking haze of smoke.

Janai was being reckless. She knew this, even as she surged into the building, eyes watering and breath catching. And yet she couldn't bring herself to care.

The dojo wasn't large. She shoved open a door to an office, another to a storage room, with no sign of Amaya. Then, as she rounded a corner in the hallway, she caught sight of a small shape on the floor, a soft glow lighting the roiling smoke.

Her heart stuttered, and she crouched low, scooped up Amaya's phone.

It was open. An unsent message to Janai sat on the screen.

"Amaya," Janai gasped. Half curse, half prayer, nausea rising in her throat. She spun in place, peering through the smoke—and realized that she stood beside an open doorway, bright white tiles gleaming in the faint light from Amaya's cellphone.

The roar of the fire two rooms away was muffled by the dojo's thick walls, as were the emergency sirens outside. Quieted enough that as Janai stood stock-still in the hallway, she could hear a huff of breath, the creak of metal.

She ducked through the doorway, phone held high to illuminate the room beyond, and found her path blocked by a sheet of metal leaning awkwardly across the opening. Had something fallen? Had the ceiling caved in—

Motion. Janai gasped in desperate relief as Amaya surged into view, on the other side of the metal barrier. She looked dazed, and blood trickled from a cut on her face. But she was _alive_.

“Janai?” she signed, her reddened eyes gone wide. She started to sign something else. Stopped. Bit her lip, then made a lifting motion, thumped the metal between them. Held up three fingers, one at a time.

Janai nodded and shoved Amaya's phone into her pocket, crouching in the smoke-darkened hallway so she could get her weight beneath the metal. On the other side, Amaya slapped the floor once. Twice. Thrice.

They both lifted on 'three', and the groan of metal sounded again, louder this time. The obstruction—a metal locker?—inched slowly at first, picking up speed as they both found their balance. At last it thumped against the tile floor with a resounding _clang_ that shook through Janai's bones.

She didn't care. She cared only for Amaya, who slumped in the doorway, gasping for air. So close to freedom, so far from escape.

“You’re fine, you're safe,” Janai panted, not knowing whether Amaya could understand a word she said through her pain and confusion, the smoke in the air. “We need to get you out of here.”

Amaya’s breathing was harsh in Janai’s ringing ears as Janai lifted her, one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, and carried her from the burning building. Amaya slumped against Janai, her hands moving weakly, though Janai couldn’t make out any actual signs.

“You’re fine,” Janai whispered again, inaudible even to herself. “You’re safe.”

One of the firefighters let out a shout as the two of them rounded the building, and Janai found herself swarmed by medical personnel, someone trying to wrench Amaya’s solid weight from her arms. Janai clung on, disoriented by the clamor around her--and then Amaya moved, waving her left arm, pushing people back. Signed something far too quickly for Janai to parse, the motions forceful despite the pain etched into her features.

“Amaya, you should go to the hospital,” one of the medics said, signing hesitantly along with their words. “You might have internal injuries, smoke inhalation--”

Amaya shook her head, twisting from Janai’s grasp. Janai set her down reluctantly, though her overworked heart warmed as Amaya slung one arm around Janai’s waist to prop herself up while she signed. Whatever she said didn’t go over well with the medics, but no one seemed willing to argue with her. Most of them turned away, dispersing through the growing crowds, likely checking to make certain no one else was injured in the blast.

“What did she say?” Janai asked, swallowing hard as she glanced down at Amaya standing beside her. White gi scorched and bloodstained, bare toes curled against the pavement.

The remaining medic squinted between the two women, confusion twisting their features, but apparently Amaya’s grip on Janai gave her clearance to know. “She said she doesn’t want to go to the hospital because someone might be watching it,” the medic said quietly. “Do you know what she means?”

Janai flinched. “She’s a diplomat, slated to participate in the summit this week. This could be an assassination attempt,” she said in an undertone, though it felt wrong to talk about Amaya like she wasn’t there. Janai shifted her grip on Amaya, turning so her lips were visible. “Amaya, do you have suspicions? Any idea who might have done this?”

Amaya signed something to Janai, the motions hesitant. “I can't even guess,” the medic interpreted. “It could have been anyone. For any reason.”

Another medic returned then, holding a portable oxygen mask. Amaya reluctantly allowed Janai to pull her down to sit against the brick building beside what remained of the dojo. Her posture was rigid as she let the medics fit the mask onto her, shine lights in her eyes, bandage the cuts on her face, arms, feet.

The moment the last bandage was in place, Amaya signed something vehement to the lingering medics. One of them tried to argue that Amaya should accept medical care, promising a guard at the hospital, but she turned her face away, deliberately ignoring them.

The medics departed at last, casting troubled glances toward the two women, and left Amaya and Janai alone.

Amaya let out a long breath, rasping into the mask, and leaned back against the brick. She lifted one hand to her ear, pinky and thumb extended. Shook it and cast Janai a pleading glance.

 _Oh!_ Janai dug into her pocket at once, retrieving the cellphone there. Amaya took the phone with an abbreviated 'thank you' and a look of intense relief. She flipped it open, tapped on the keyboard, and Janai’s phone chimed a moment later.

“Told you I needed a phone that could withstand anything,” Amaya had written.

Janai laughed, painfully. The memory of their near-miss was still too sharp and fresh in her mind. “You weren’t wrong,” she texted back. She found herself looking Amaya over, cataloguing her injuries, looking for anything Amaya hadn’t told the medics. The set of her shoulders was still hunched in pain. “Are you all right? You didn’t tear or dislocate anything, did you?”

Amaya lifted her right arm, waved it back and forth, bending at the shoulder, elbow, wrist. “I’m sore,” she texted. “Minor burns, bruises, maybe a strain. But nothing that needs x-rays. You don't need to worry about me.”

“Amaya, I just pulled you out of a burning building,” Janai texted. “I think I have the right to worry about you.”

Amaya laughed, soft and wry, leaning against Janai. Janai could feel her shiver in the cooling air. “My hero,” Amaya texted, glancing up at Janai. Her tired eyes shimmered with amusement, and her smile didn’t quite chase the pain lines from the corners of her mouth.

_She’s so beautiful, even like this._

The thought stole across Janai’s mind, and as it did, their gazes locked. An intensity built there, just as it had in the cafe, and this time, Janai recognized it as _desire_. Mutual desire, echoing between them until it was almost painful, until Janai was half-convinced that Amaya was about to kiss her and half-hoping that she would--

She tore her gaze from Amaya’s, shuddering, and belatedly recognized a voice she’d heard shouting across the darkening street, lit by the last glimmers of sunset, by the remnants of the fire, by strobing emergency lights. Her own name, called in a voice Janai had heard once before, during the tour that had given her such insight into the enigma that was Amaya.

“Over here, Gren,” Janai called, part of her reluctant to disrupt this quiet bubble around them--but Gren had the right to know that Amaya was all right. Janai waved, and a moment later caught sight of the redhead rushing toward them, horror and worry and relief all fighting for dominance on his features.

Relief won out, for the moment. “You’re safe,” he gasped, signing the words as Amaya looked up at him. “Soren convinced me to walk him home, we were halfway there when all the texts started coming in--I thought--”

Amaya pushed herself up, leaving Janai feeling strange and cold and lonely, still seated on the ground. Grabbed both his shaking hands with her left. “I’m okay,” she said, slow enough that he could read the signs in his panic, slow enough that even Janai could read them. Then she pulled him into a hug, running one hand soothingly up and down his back.

Janai glanced away from the raw emotion in Gren’s face, his posture. She didn’t belong here, intruding on such a personal moment. Trying to ignore the unpleasant flicker of envy in her chest, trying not to think of what it might mean.

Amaya pulled back at last, signed something to him--and Gren interpreted it, glancing at Janai, his eyes warm with gratitude. “I’m fine. Janai got me out safely, and the medics have already looked me over.” He sniffled, then laughed at Amaya’s next words as she chuffed his cheek. “Don’t cry, you big softie.”

“Thank you,” Gren said, turning toward Janai, his voice his own now. As always, he signed as he spoke, and Janai found herself matching the few signs she recognized to their audible counterparts. “I don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“The firefighters were right behind me,” Janai deflected, uncomfortable with his praise. Amaya swayed on her feet, and both Janai and Gren gave her concerned looks as she settled back down against the wall, so close Janai could all but feel the heat of her skin. “And once we got out, she fought off a dozen medics. We don’t have to worry about her.”

 _That won’t stop us, though,_ Janai thought, and from the glance Gren gave her, he was thinking much the same.

The worried look seemed permanently etched into Gren's features by now. “Do you want me to--” he started to ask.

Amaya shook her head almost before he started speaking. “I need you to contact Harrow,” she signed. Gren’s voice was still shaking, even as he swapped to speaking her words. “Tell him what happened, assure him I’m all right. I’ll talk to him when I’ve gone home, got a shower.” Her face softened. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Gren said, glancing between Amaya and Janai. To Janai’s shock, a faint smile chased across his features before he turned, pulling a cellphone from his pocket and stepping away to where the sirens and the chatter weren’t so overwhelming.

Motion caught Janai’s gaze then, as several figures approached where they sat. The medic gave Amaya a final once-over and took the oxygen mask away, face pinched with disapproval. One of the firefighters came by with a familiar bag, scorched and damp but intact, which Amaya took from them with a trembling sigh of relief.

That trembling seemed to take hold of her. She began to shudder, and Janai glanced down in alarm, seeing how pale Amaya had grown.

“You’re going into shock,” Janai said, gesturing Gren closer as he finished his call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I know you don’t want to go to a hospital, but the embassy isn’t far. It’s well-guarded. And we have an infirmary.”

Amaya shook her head. Pinched her fingers together, tapped the side of her mouth, then her cheek beside her ear.

“I want to go home,” Gren interpreted quietly.

Janai bit her lip, looking down at Amaya. She looked so _tired_. Janai didn’t want to pile anything further on her, but....

She pulled out her phone, swiped a few quick words, and turned the screen toward Amaya. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital because someone might be watching it, you shouldn’t go home. I’m sorry.”

Amaya sucked in a sharp breath. Glanced between Janai, Gren, and the emergency responders, and nodded at last.

Gren broke off at once to speak to the medics, and Janai helped Amaya up, leading her over to the ambulance. The medics' relief was palpable as they hustled Amaya into the back, lifting her onto the cot there and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

As Janai settled into the hard plastic seat beside the cot, Gren leaned in after her. "Thank you for being there for her," he said, quiet but fervent. "It means... more than I can say. I trust you to look after her."

"Thank you," Janai said, genuinely touched. "I'll do everything I can for her. I promise."

Gren flashed a brilliant smile. "I know," he said, and turned away, speaking with one of the firefighters as a medic shut the ambulance doors.

The trip seemed to take no time at all. The medics scarcely had time to take readings with an oximeter and a blood pressure cuff before the ambulance's forward momentum began to slow, and the doors opened to the familiar sight of the street outside the embassy. Quiet, peaceful. A world away from the strobing, smoky scene they'd just left behind.

To Janai's relief, the embassy halls were mostly unpopulated, though she and Amaya drew more than a few stares as they made their slow, shuffling way down to the infirmary. It couldn't be more obvious that Amaya was exhausted and in pain, though Janai didn't dare offer to carry her again. The grim line of Amaya's mouth, the determined set of her shoulders, told Janai plenty about how such an offer would be received.

The staffer on duty at the infirmary jumped up, all wide eyes and stammered inquiries, as Janai led Amaya in. Janai paid little attention to the story she gave the staffer, all her concentration on getting Amaya to a room before she collapsed.

Janai scarcely breathed until Amaya was seated on an infirmary bed, her fingers scrunched in the crisp white sheets. A tired smile tugged at her lips as she cast her gaze around the room, at the crimson trim on stark white cabinets and the gold inlay on the taps of the utilitarian sink. Her hand circled before her chest, fingers spread wide, in what was almost certainly a teasing comment on the decor.

"It is a little ostentatious, I admit," Janai said, her mouth twitching into an unexpected smile. "But you'll be safe here." She hesitated, then pulled out her phone again. "Is there anything you need?" she wrote.

Amaya stared thoughtfully at her phone, then shook her head. "Sleep," she wrote, smoothing one hand over the sheet below her. "I have a thousand other things I need to do, but I won't get very far unless I actually get some rest."

Janai nodded, giving Amaya one last once-over. Her gaze catching on Amaya's sunken eyes and chapped lips, the faint tremors in the hand that held her cellphone. One of the hasty bandages on Amaya's arm had given way during the shuffle, exposing a long, shallow slash across her bicep.

The sight made Janai wince. "Here, let me get someone to re-bandage that," she texted, turning to leave.

Her phone buzzed before she could take a step. "No," Amaya had texted, and Janai turned back to see Amaya's mouth set with firm determination, though there was something about her eyes that looked almost... lost. "I'll be fine." She glanced down at her phone, then back up at Janai, and added, "I need to not be around people right now."

"Oh," Janai said, her voice soft in the quiet room. "I'll go, then," she texted.

To her surprise, Amaya shook her head, fingers pinching into another "No."

 _She... she wants me here?_ Janai thought, her heart feeling suddenly light, lighter than she would have thought possible after tonight. She started instinctively toward the bed, then halted, typing again. "Perhaps I could assist you, then?" she asked.

Amaya stared up at her for a long, long moment. The stubbornness fading from her features, leaving behind a look of such open, honest vulnerability that Janai's breath caught in her throat.

"Okay," Amaya signed at last, hesitant and soft.

It was, somehow, the most endearing gesture Janai had ever seen. She was acutely grateful for the excuse to turn away, to compose herself as she dug in the cabinets and grabbed a roll of bandages, a tube of antiseptic. Fighting down the urge to gather Amaya into her arms and promise to never let her go.

She settled at last onto the bed beside Amaya. Their eyes met, and once again Janai felt that pull, drawing her in. This time, though, she didn’t look away, even as she uncapped the antiseptic and spread it carefully down the gash on Amaya’s arm. Even as Amaya fought back a wince, her gaze growing intense enough to scorch. Janai wrapped bandages around Amaya’s bicep, slow and meditative, her breathing falling into the same rhythm. Amaya’s slowed to match, and for a long, long moment, the rest of the world fell away.

Janai glanced away at last, looking for the little clips to fasten the bandage. Her phone chimed as she latched them in place, and she pulled it out, scanned across the message there.

“It’s hard to heal, isn’t it.”

She looked over to Amaya, her face so tired in the dim infirmary light. Amaya wasn’t talking about her arm, Janai knew. “It is,” she texted, the screen of her phone chasing shadows across the bed as she settled back. “It’s so much easier to hurt people than to heal them.”

Amaya shifted closer to Janai, just slightly, but Janai was so desperately aware of her presence. “It took me too long to learn that,” Amaya wrote. “I couldn’t handle peace at first. It felt so wrong, to just _be_. To not spend my life fighting. It took even longer to learn that I could give things back. I could heal others. And even that was easier than healing myself.”

Janai’s fingers stole up to her chest, to the sunburst stitched over her heart. “Some days, I don’t even think it’s possible,” she wrote back. “I see people around me looking happy, and I hate them for it. I see you, in this world you’ve built, and I hate myself for not having moved on like you have.”

“That’s just it,” Amaya texted, looking insistently up at Janai. “I haven’t moved on, not fully. I don’t think I ever will. And that’s okay. Some scars will never heal, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn to live with them. To work around them.”

Janai let out a long, trembling breath. “I want to do that. I want to learn. I _want_ to heal. And I think I’m finally starting to, because of you. To heal, to hate less. To smile more.”

Amaya shifted again, closer still, so close she and Janai were almost touching, side by side on the stiff white sheets. The heat of Amaya's skin a soothing balm for Janai's frayed nerves.

“I’m glad,” Amaya texted. Her expression so soft, so tender, that Janai felt tears pricking at her eyes.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this _content_. Sitting in companionable silence with an incredible woman, one who had, in so short a time, become so important to Janai's heart.

Amaya tipped her head to lean on Janai's shoulder, tension fading from her frame as she let out a long, shaky breath. And somehow, Janai found her arm coming up to wrap about Amaya's ribs. Holding her close, feeling her shiver in the faint chill of the infirmary room.

Janai knew she would have to get up soon. To get Amaya a blanket. To give her information to the infirmary staff. To head upstairs and see what chaos the embassy had fallen into in Janai's absence.

But for now?

For now, they were here. Together.

Safe.


	8. Overload

Amaya sat on her borrowed bed in the Xadian embassy’s infirmary, exhausted but too keyed up to sleep, and tried to ignore the overly helpful presence of the embassy staffer stationed beside the door to her room. She wished she could have had Kazi guard her, just so she had something familiar to cling to. An interpreter-shaped security blanket. But she wasn’t about to order them down to the infirmary in the middle of the night just to make her more comfortable, even if it meant that she had to scrawl any requests with fingers that shook from the strain.

She didn’t know what Janai would tell the Xadians about the explosion. Didn’t even know if she cared, at the moment. She ached everywhere, and was considering fishing a painkiller from her bag rather than asking the staffer to find something for her. The cuts and burns scattered across her body stung, and her head pounded from the smoke and the stress and the fear.

Exhaustion tugged at her. She should try to get some sleep. And yet, all she could see was Janai’s face superimposed over her eyelids whenever they slid shut. The soft tenderness in Janai’s gaze as she’d bandaged Amaya’s arm. The pained set of her mouth as they texted back and forth about healing.

The look of desperate relief in her eyes, visible even through the smoke, as she’d surged into the fire-wracked dojo, as she’d caught sight of Amaya, safe and whole....

Amaya shuddered, hunched on the bed. The dojo. _Her_ dojo. Clean lines, muted colors. Familiar hallways, the cool austerity of the changing rooms, the smells of rubber and sweat. Years of memories--her first nervous class, so long ago now, feeling unworthy of the trust people were putting in her. Handing out belts and feeling like she was about to burst from pride. The look in a kid’s eyes when they accomplished something they thought impossible. All gone now, destroyed--and for what? Because of the war? Because of the summit?

Because of Amaya herself?

Her left hand fisted in her hair, and she wished she’d been able to stop by her house and grab a few things. A change of clothes. Her toothbrush. Another of those damned sleeping pills. Instead she dug into her bag, pushing aside a waterlogged shirt and Gren's spare puzzle book. Pulled out her first-aid kit and swallowed a pair of painkillers with the plastic cup of water beside her bed.

A vibration travelled through her leg, belatedly recognized as her cellphone. She pulled it out, stared at it. Long buzz, green light. Harrow. Amaya had all but forgotten she had promised to contact him.

"Text me when you get this, please," he'd written. "I was so worried when I heard what had happened. It's good to hear you're all right."

"I am," she texted back, rubbing at her tired eyes. "Some bumps and bruises, but nothing that won't heal on its own."

It took Harrow a few minutes to respond, and Amaya bit back a reflexive thought of 'I should be there helping him'. She'd be no good to anyone tonight. "I'm so glad," he texted. "That's one piece of good news this week, at least."

Amaya frowned down at her phone, her fingers going cold as new worry flooded her weary mind. "What do you mean?"

"The problems at the palace," he replied. "Haven't you heard? I gave instructions that a précis be included in your briefings each day."

"This is the first I've heard of them," Amaya wrote, shaking her head, as though he could see her. "I've been busy with the Xadians. What's been going on over there?"

Another few minutes' agonizing wait. Maybe he wasn't busy, just terrible at swyping. "Minor issues, mostly. I'll speak to my staff about getting you a report in the morning." A pause, then another message. "Get some rest, Amaya. I know you need it."

"I will," she texted back, reluctant. "You do the same. Love you."

"I love you, too."

Amaya set her phone aside, let out a long sigh. Leaned back at last, tugging the inadequate blanket up over her soot-stained gi--the staffer had offered her a set of scrubs, but she’d shaken her head at the sunburst insignia. She’d grown used to those golden lines on Janai. Fond of them, even, though she could scarcely admit this, even to herself. But she couldn’t bring herself to wear them.

She settled back against the flat pillow, closed her eyes, and resolved to lie there, aching, worrying, until the morning came.

And then… and then, she’d figure out where to go from there.

###### 

Two in the morning had come and gone by the time Janai finally managed to stumble back up to her room.

She’d been working nonstop since leaving the infirmary. The security enhancements--which felt like a lifetime ago now--were still in progress. Planning for the summit had reached a fever pitch while she’d been occupied earlier, and the news that their ambassador _and_ a member of Katolis’s royal family had been involved in what might be a terror attack had pushed the embassy over the edge into full-blown panic.

It had taken Janai the better part of an hour just to calm things down. To halt any immediate reaction pending investigation of the bombing. Longer still to convince the embassy’s director that Janai had offered Amaya temporary asylum, that despite everything she’d said last week, she trusted the woman implicitly. More so than she trusted even her own embassy’s staff, though she hadn’t said as much out loud.

Janai had personally hand-picked the staffer standing guard over the infirmary, with strict instructions that Amaya was to be provided with anything she requested--within reason--and that the guard was there not to watch Amaya, but to protect her should anything happen. Janai did not explain what Amaya might need protection from, and after a worried glance at her face, the staffer hadn’t asked her to elaborate.

Sighing deeply, Janai pressed her fingers to the security pad and shoved the door of her room open, kicking off her sneakers as she stepped through. She wanted a shower. A bath, even. She wanted to head down to the gym and punch something until she’d worked the frustration from her system. She wanted...

Janai shook her head, stripped out of her smoke-scented tee and chucked it into the hamper. She _wanted_ to go back down to the infirmary to check on Amaya. But it was late, and after such an... eventful day, Amaya was almost certainly asleep by now. As Janai should be.

She sighed again, headed into her bathroom. Better she wash up before bed, if only to keep her entire room from smelling like smoke. She turned her shower to as hot as she could stand and stepped in, letting the water sluice down over her, washing away the stress of the day. Of the _week_.

_Amaya could have died._

The thought had been running on repeat through Janai’s head for hours, despite her every effort to silence it. No matter how many times Janai told herself that she'd made it in time, that even if she hadn't, the firefighters would have found Amaya before it was too late. But still, as Janai rested her forehead on the cool tile of her shower, all she could see through the steam billowing around her was the stunned disbelief on Amaya’s face as she caught sight of Janai in the doorway.

And Janai couldn't help but think about how much she'd risked to find Amaya, her first instinct to protect the woman she’d once counted among her greatest enemies.

It hadn’t been until hours later that Janai had realized she’d thought of Amaya as a friend throughout the aftermath. That something had shifted between them in that moment, indefinably but permanently.

 _My friend, General Amaya of Katolis,_ Janai thought, tasting the idea. It was impossible. Absurd.

Undeniable.

Janai scarcely dared acknowledge that. Definitely didn’t dare acknowledge the lingering glances they kept casting each other, the way they kept getting so caught up in each other. She didn’t need this right now, another layer of complication laid over all the preparations for the summit.

She _especially_ didn’t need to stand there, naked in the shower, thinking about the taut muscles in Amaya’s arms and back, her nimble fingers, the sparkle of humor in her eyes as her lips twisted upward into a knowing smirk--

Janai shook her head, turned the water to _cold_ , and rinsed off with brisk efficiency. Stepped out shivering, drip-dried while she squeezed water from her locs. She was yawning by the time she pulled out her hair dryer, and at last padded heavy-lidded back into her bedroom, tugging on an oversized tee-shirt before crawling under her covers.

And still, despite her exhaustion, sleep continued to elude her.

She lay staring up at the ceiling. The embassy was usually calm at this late hour. Now, though, she could still hear distant conversations, people walking intermittently down the hallway. Little reminders that things weren’t as they should be.

How was it that she’d felt calmer at the scene of the bombing, smoke heavy in the air and lights strobing through the night, than she did lying in her own bed?

Janai rolled over, staring at the soft glow of streetlights filtering through her window, playing across her walls. She wanted to go to Amaya, she admitted at last. Not just to check on her, but to sit there with her, hearing her breathe, and know they were both safe now.

But that felt like far too much, far too soon. They’d scarcely even had a real conversation, despite all their lunches. It always struck Janai as too impersonal to talk about such serious subjects through text messages or scrawled notes. And it was so easy to laugh with Amaya, trading jokes and observations and personal anecdotes that still didn’t quite scrape the surface. It was only when Amaya deliberately chose to open up that Janai got a glimpse at the woman beneath all the trappings of classwork and pastries.

 _But how are we to have a conversation, if not through text?_ Janai wondered, thumping her pillow in frustration. _Without a third person between us?_

She’d had no time to practice, no time to study the intricacies of Amaya’s language, so she could communicate with the same enthusiasm she so admired in Amaya. All she held were a handful of signs, enough for only the most basic pleasantries. How long would it take her to learn to say things like ‘It makes me uncomfortable to realize how much I’ve begun to depend on your presence in my life’? Or ‘I still find myself having trouble reconciling my expectations of you with how you make me feel‘?

Once again, Janai felt a pang of envy for the ease with which Amaya and Gren communicated. Had he been raised with KSL, as Amaya had? Or had he once been as fumbling and unsure as Janai? ‘Gren is a better teacher than I am,’ Amaya had told Janai on that memorable tour--was it possible he would be willing to help? Or should Janai employ Kazi, or find an actual class....

Janai pushed herself out of bed with a grunt of frustration, started to pace back and forth across the darkened room. She had more important things to focus on. The summit. The bombing. The fact that she should be awake in less than four hours, ready for another day of work.

She huffed, stomped over to her computer, and typed in a search for 'learn KSL videos'.

And when the light of dawn bled over the horizon, it found Janai still sitting sleepless, new words on her hands.

###### 

Amaya woke from an hour or so of fitful, intermittent sleep to the renewed realization that getting blown up _fucking hurt_.

She was more than familiar by now with the concept of ‘everything hurts more the second day’. Once the adrenaline had worn off, once the aches had time to settle into joints and muscles. But it had been a long, _long_ time since she’d been in this much pain. Peacetime had made her soft, she decided, fumbling in her first-aid kit with fingers gone curled and stiff. She almost regretted refusing the doctor’s offer, last night, of stronger medication--it always left her feeling sluggish, almost underwater, but Amaya was beginning to think that for once, she might not care.

Motion from the door to the room caught her eye, and she instinctively readied herself, though she didn’t know what she would do if someone came to accost her. Hurt at them? She was too exhausted to do much of anything else.

But _no_. Amaya felt a smile break across her face as Janai stepped into the room, the awareness of her pain fading in a rush of warm emotion.

The euphoria lasted only a moment. As Janai approached, coming into clearer view, she looked just as tired as Amaya felt. Her usual crispness was mussed, her motions uncharacteristically slow.

“Good morning,” Amaya signed, and glanced over at the clock above the door just to make sure that was accurate. Half past five. Ugh. Too early to head out for coffee, too late to fall back asleep and hope to accomplish anything before noon.

Janai’s weary gaze lightened, and she copied the motions. “Good morning.” Her eyes widened as she glanced at the first-aid kit in Amaya’s lap, and she held up one finger before turning to speak with the staffer. They nodded enthusiastically, long braids dancing, and headed further into the infirmary. Janai filled Amaya’s cup in the sink before returning to her bedside.

“How are you doing?” Janai signed awkwardly, watching Amaya sip at the water. Well, it was more like a disconnected ‘you, how’, but the intent was clear.

Amaya almost said ‘I’m fine’, but her hands stilled with the realization that Janai would know at once that she was lying. She grimaced, reached toward the phone on her bedside table, gave up halfway there. Why had she left it so far away? “Not good,” she said at last, hoping these were among the signs Janai already knew.

To her relief, Janai nodded. “I thought so,” she signed. Amaya almost held her back, almost told her that she could speak aloud if she wished… but, especially when Amaya was this tired, it was nice to not have to concentrate so hard to understand a hearing person. To have someone else be the one straining for comprehension.

The staffer stepped back into the room then, handing Janai a small bottle of pills. Janai nodded to them as they withdrew, then twisted the lid from the bottle and held both out to Amaya, her smile going wry as Amaya raised one eyebrow. “Sabah,” Janai spelled, pointing to the staffer, stationed once more beside Amaya’s door. “I t-r-u-s-t.”

That was good enough for Amaya. She took the bottle, fumbled a pill from it, swallowed the painkiller with a long sip of water. “Thank you,” she signed, tucking the recapped bottle into her first-aid kit, beside the antibiotics she’d been given last night.

"You need anything else?" Janai asked, her signs almost painfully earnest.

Amaya almost laughed. The list of 'things she needed' was far longer than anything Janai could provide her with. Answers, for one. 

Still, she considered the question seriously. It had been hours since Sabah had brought her a dinner tray. "Food," she signed, falling instinctively into the pidgin she'd used when Callum and Ezran were younger, easier for a beginner to understand than true KSL. "But not now. I still hurt. Pills take time."

Janai watched her carefully, nodded at last. "I understand," she signed, and took a step toward the bed. Hesitated, catching Amaya's gaze and raising an eyebrow.

Amaya nodded permission, and Janai settled onto the bed beside her again. The motion as natural as breathing. And even weary as she was, it was impossible for Amaya to ignore the way her heart stuttered at the searching look Janai gave her.

"We need..." Janai began, then faltered, her fingers twitching. Her brow furrowed in frustration, and she finally huffed and reached for Amaya's phone, handing it over with an apologetic grimace. "It still feels strange to text someone sitting next to me," she admitted, showing her own screen to Amaya instead of sending the message.

"It shouldn't," Amaya wrote back. "It's just another way I communicate. But I can understand where you're coming from." She flashed a wry smile. "You're used to text being impersonal, right? You can't read tone, it's harder to ask for clarification. But I'm right here. My expressions flavor the words the same way they do when I'm signing."

Janai smiled back, a little self-deprecating. "You're right, of course you are. I'd just never thought of it like that." She erased the message, typed, "So what are our plans for today? Have you heard from your people?"

'Our plans.' Amaya felt so warm, reading those words. "Not in the sense of 'whodunit'," she wrote. "Harrow checked on me, but I haven't heard anything further. I can make more inquiries once I've eaten. What about your people?"

"Well, they're not happy," Janai wrote, an unhappy twist to her lips. "There was a lot of focus on the fact that I was supposed to be there when the bomb went off. But I talked them out of blaming Katolis on a knee-jerk impulse, at least." She tipped her head, thoughtful. "Would it be taken as a gesture of goodwill to send a forensic tech to help with the investigation? Or would that just raise more suspicion?"

Amaya tapped her thumb on her phone as she thought. "It could help," she allowed. "Leave most of the investigation to the city, send someone from each side along. They can watch each other, assure themselves it's a partisan effort."

"And us?" Janai asked, glancing up at Amaya, then determinedly back down at her phone. "You should probably rest, but I doubt you're going to."

"Guilty as charged," Amaya wrote, laughing. She was already feeling better, though as she'd worried, the edges of her thoughts felt a little blurred. "I'm going to head out and start my own investigation. It's not just the bombing—there's trouble at the palace, plus your embassy's security issues. I have to pursue those. You could come with me, if you'd like."

Janai's brow wrinkled with concern, though the impact was spoiled as she covered a yawn. "Amaya, someone just made an attempt on your life. You should at least take a day off to recover."

"We don't have time for that," Amaya insisted. Janai's concern was touching, if misplaced. "The summit starts in two days. And we still don't have the first idea who might have done this."

"Figuring that out is a job for other people," Janai wrote. "You're not a forensic tech, you're not an investigator. Leave this to the professionals."

Amaya rolled her eyes. "I _am_ a professional. And I have options they don't. True, I can't investigate the bombing itself, but I have contacts who might not talk to anyone but me. And I have clearance at the palace."

"The police have their own informants, Amaya," Janai texted, glancing over with worried eyes. "And I'm certain the palace will be cooperating with the investigation. They'll have someone there with the requisite clearance." She frowned. "And without knowing why you, specifically, were targeted, going to the palace might put you in further danger. Contact people, if you feel you must. But stay here, where you're safe."

Amaya let out a long, frustrated breath. "I can't," she wrote. "You pointed out a few days ago that we can't trust that our phones aren't compromised." She glanced suspiciously up at Janai. "There are more important things than me 'staying safe'. And can you guarantee I'll be safer here than at the palace?"

Janai started typing something, then erased it, the set of her jaw growing stubborn. "There’s no point in you deliberately endangering yourself," she finally messaged. "And I don’t see what’s so safe about the palace when you plan to ignore your recovery needs and stick your nose into an investigation."

Glaring at her phone, Amaya started typing a rejoinder, but Janai was apparently not done yet. "You need to know your limits. If you force your way in, you'll just slow things down."

The words stung, in a way that was far too familiar. Years of people insisting that Amaya needed special care, that she shouldn't take on dangerous tasks. She found herself scowling at her phone as she replied. "I'm not a child. I don't need to be coddled. What I NEED is to help track down the culprit, or culprits, before they strike again. You said it yourself, we don't know why I was targeted. What if they go after someone else next?"

"I'm not coddling you," Janai wrote, stabbing the 'send' button with unnecessary force. "I'm worried about you. It isn't your place to do this. You have other responsibilities."

"Like what?" Amaya asked, typing so fast she had to backspace several typos. "I'm no diplomat. Barely an ambassador. Can't sit back and watch other people. Need to act."

Janai glanced up, exasperation written all over her face. "But that's not your job." Her mouth twisted. "Do you not trust your own people?"

"It's not that," Amaya insisted. "My life. My home. Someone attacked me, personally. Can't ask anyone else to do this."

She was trembling with the effort of so much typing, and her head pounded in time with her heartbeat. Why couldn't Janai see how important this was to Amaya? The culprit could strike again, at any time. Who would be their next target—Harrow? Callum and Ezran? Gren? Soren and Claudia?

Janai?

Amaya's free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into her palm. She forced back the images threatening to overtake her vision—a darkened street, a solemn crowd, blood pooling on the pavement.

She'd held herself back, once. Kept herself from running in when someone might be in danger. She never intended to do so again.

Janai glared at her, brow knit with frustration. "I thought officers were supposed to be good at delegating," she typed. "Has civilian life made you into a micromanager?"

Gritting her teeth, Amaya barely managed to hold herself back from typing 'fuck u'. "That's before they went after me. My dojo. Who knows where they'll hit next? Things here I need to protect."

_And somehow, one of those things is you._

Janai's shoulders slumped in what looked like an exasperated sigh, her breath chasing across Amaya's arm and raising goosebumps. "Is it a Katolis royal family trait to hold a grudge?" she asked, her lips pressing into a flat line.

"Sunfire trait to leave all the dirty work to other people?" Amaya retorted. Her breathing was growing shallower, sharper. Scraping her smoke-seared throat. "Just shove things away so you don't have to care?"

"I care," Janai wrote, her face gone stormy. She stood abruptly, began to pace across the small hospital room. The vibrations from her stomping feet shivering through the bed. "I'd do almost anything to protect the people I care about. But I don't flatter myself by thinking I can—or should—do it all myself."

"Not about vanity," Amaya wrote, feeling shaky and ill. Hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Janai whirled to stare her down. Something desperate, almost lost, in Janai's gaze. "Then prove it," she said aloud, the consonants sharp on her lips. "Stay out of this, Amaya."

_"Amaya, stay out of this. Let me go talk to them."_

It was, all at once, too much for Amaya. Too much emotion, heavy in the air. "I can't," she typed, fumbling at the keys. "My sister died the last time I 'stayed out of it'. Damned if I'll let the same thing happen to you."

She couldn't stay here any longer. She needed to get away. To be alone.

Ignoring Janai's confused text of 'wait what do you mean,' Amaya grabbed her bag, snapped her phone shut and shoved it into her pocket. Half-expecting to feel a hand on her arm, pulling her back. She would welcome that. Physical contact, an excuse to lash out against _something_.

No touch came. She glanced back for a fleeting instant as she yanked the door open, and her heart plummeted at the sight of Janai standing there, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes.

Amaya fled.

The corridors flashed past. She traversed them with a surety she hadn't expected in such an agitated state. Hardly noticing people moving hastily out of her way as she stormed through, fear and anger and worry all roiling within her, a maelstrom of emotion that she couldn't weather here.

She chose _anger_. It was the easiest, the most familiar. The most comforting.

Amaya seethed, breaking into a run as soon as she'd cleared the embassy doors. Feet pounding against the pavement in the dim predawn light. Her muscles screamed at her in protest, despite the painkillers. She didn't care. The pain was something else to focus on, something to keep her from recalling the pain on Janai's face.

In record time, she found herself at her apartment building, and spared a fleeting worry for Janai's concerns from last night. What if someone was watching her home, waiting for her to return?

They could _try_ to attack her, she decided, scanning her card and yanking the door open. She'd give them the fight of their lives.

Amaya ignored the elevators, rushing up the stairs instead, and was almost disappointed when she made it to her apartment without incident. She gave it a quick sweep, looking for anything out of place, checking for explosives. Nothing.

Finally she collapsed onto her sofa, lungs burning from the exertion. Pressed her face into the pillow beside her and let go at last.

Her country. Her dojo. Her sister. So many things she loved that she'd ended up harming or losing. 

Amaya didn't know how long she sobbed into the pillow, aching arms wrapped tight around her aching stomach. Long enough that the fabric was uncomfortably damp by the time she pushed herself upright and headed shakily into the bathroom, splashed cold water onto her tear-stained face.

She stared for a long, long moment at her own features in the mirror, disliking what she saw there. She looked pale, haggard. Bruiselike shadows under her eyes. Lines standing out harsh on her forehead, at the corners of her mouth. She sighed, turned her back on herself, and stepped toward the shower.

The room's lights blinked, deliberately, in the pattern for her doorbell.

Amaya tossed her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists. Frustration surging through her veins.

The lights blinked again.

She flung a series of curses into the air as she stormed out of the bathroom. Who would be at her door at this hour of the morning? The assassin? Gren? Harrow? Janai? Had Janai followed her here? Somehow, that seemed like a very Janai thing to do. What would Amaya even _say_ to her? She was pissed. Scared. Desperately worried. She should apologize. She had nothing to apologize for.

Amaya yanked her front door open, already slashing her hand in an angry 'What do you want'—

Soren stood in the hallway, looking small and lost and so, so young. Concern lighting his eyes as he looked Amaya up and down, his gaze lingering on her bandages.

He swallowed, hard. Amaya was hard-pressed to read the words he spoke then, through her own exhaustion and the trembling of his chin, but a chill rushed down her spine as she finally made them out.

"I think my dad wants to kill you."


	9. Intrusive

Janai was busy.

Very busy.

 _Deliberately_ busy, because when she was busy, she didn't have time to think.

But in the inevitable lulls, her mind threw itself right back to the infirmary. As though part of her still sat, stunned, on the bed there.

Janai stormed down a hallway, paying only the barest attention to where she was going or who might be in her way. How dare Amaya sit there and accuse Janai of not caring. How dare Amaya insist that she alone could find the bomber, that her diplomatic duties meant nothing in comparison.

How _dare_ she become Janai's first friend in Katolis.

A friend, and perhaps more. Amaya got under Janai's skin, distracting her. Challenging her. It hurt to be accused of indifference, when the thought of the bruises on Amaya's arms, the shadows under her eyes, was enough to make Janai's breath catch and eyes burn. 

And even now, as angry as she was about the fight, Janai couldn't help but wish Amaya was still there with her. Tucked away safe and sound, where Janai would no longer have to worry about her. To worry about failing her.

She'd looked so... _stricken_. Like the ground was crumbling from beneath her feet.

Janai sighed, long and gusty, as she swung around a corner. She'd got so caught up in the words that she'd missed the emotion behind them. So lost in her own concerns that she'd lost sight of how hard this was hitting Amaya. But damn it, Janai had been right. It wasn't Amaya's place to go after the bad guys, not any longer. She'd given up that life, built a new one. It wasn't healthy for her to revert to her wartime instincts. It wasn't _safe_.

And for the life of her, Janai couldn't pinpoint when Amaya's safety had become her primary concern.

She burst through a door, just shy of slamming it open. Ignored the questioning stares cast her way by the staffers within as she interrogated them with cool dispassion. Spun on her heel and marched from the room as soon as she'd finished, on to the next task on her list.

Janai made it halfway there before she gave in. Her feet slowing to a stop as she tugged the cellphone from her pocket, swiped the pattern on her screen, opened the messaging service. Checking again for a new text, even though her phone hadn't chimed.

The conversation from that morning still sat there, untouched for hours. Taunting her. Acerbic words that had been paired with a stubborn jaw and desperate eyes. "My sister died the last time I 'stayed out of it'. Damned if I'll let the same thing happen to you."

The sight made Janai go hot and cold all over again. Her own reply felt so weak, hurriedly typed before Amaya could rush out the door and leave her behind. She'd still been too late.

And then, one final note, sent to Janai more than an hour later. A simple message, barely a reassurance. "home. safe. talk later."

Janai stared down at the words, her fist clenching and unclenching at her side. 'Later'. As though Janai had nothing better to do than sit there, waiting for Amaya to deign to speak to her again.

She couldn't afford to dwell on this. Janai pushed herself off the wall, shoving her cellphone brusquely back into her pocket, and stomped off toward her next task. Trying to pretend that Amaya's absence wasn't eating away at her more and more with every passing minute.

If Amaya had just listened to her, they'd both still be here. Safe. Together.

Janai gave her head a sharp shake, gathering her scattered focus. She had so many things to do. So little time in which to do them.

She could _feel_ later.

###### 

Amaya leaned against her counter, trying to lose herself in the calming bustle of breakfast. Even if 'breakfast' was a half-dozen toaster waffles. She usually managed to fry a couple of eggs, but she didn't trust herself to use the stove at the moment.

She glanced back over at her sofa, where Soren sat staring into a mug of cocoa, his shoulders hunched. Sugar. The kid needed sugar. She buttered the waffles, poured a generous amount of syrup over them, and brought the plates over to her coffee table.

Soren signed a half-hearted thank you, and Amaya sighed, leaning back on the sofa. "Eat now," she said, putting as much auntly concern as she could manage into the signs. "Think later." To illustrate her point, she stabbed a piece of waffle and tore into it with probably-unnecessary force.

No—she had to stay calm here. Anger would just make him retract, even righteous anger about how he'd been treated. And though the argument still weighed heavily on her mind, she definitely couldn't let him see what a mess she was. He'd be relying on her for strength, right now.

He poked reluctantly at his waffle, but he didn't eat until Amaya folded her arms and fixed him with her sternest glare. One bite became two became five, until he'd cleared his plate. She fancied he looked marginally better, no longer quite so... shattered.

Amaya leaned over, gritting her teeth against the pain, and retrieved the notebook from her bag. Its edges were still damp, but there was enough dry space for her to work with. "Okay, kiddo, now tell me what's wrong," she wrote, nudging Soren's shoulder.

He gave her a halfhearted smile, his hands clenched so tight in his lap that his knuckles had gone white. "I heard my dad arguing with somebody in his office," he said. "I don't think he knew I was there—I shoulda been at school by then, but I was late, and I couldn't help listening, but I wish I hadn't, but then I wouldn't know anything was wrong—." 

Soren's jaw was clenched, and he was talking so fast that Amaya could barely make out what he was saying. She rubbed his back until his tense posture loosened a little, and he shifted, facing Amaya. Desperately earnest. "They were yelling. Like, they were _mad_. Something about the bomb, and—and you. And Dad yelled something about how they couldn't kill you _yet_ , they still needed you, and the other guy should have waited."

He was breathing hard, and Amaya picked up the forgotten mug of cocoa, pushed it into his hands. He nodded gratefully and took a long sip, then set the mug down and kept talking with a chocolate moustache. "I dunno what happened after that. I shoulda stuck around, tried to hear more. But I just... couldn't. Stay there. I sneaked out of the house and then I ran all the way here."

Amaya wrapped an arm around the kid, pressed a kiss into his hair. Forcing down her dawning horror. "It's okay," she signed. "You're okay."

"But you're not!" Soren said, guilt twisting his features. "You're all banged up, and—"

"And I'm alive," Amaya wrote, lips pressed into a firm line. "And you came to me as soon as you could. I'm proud of you."

Despite it all, this brought a tired smile to Soren's face. "Thanks, Auntie," he signed, and leaned his head on her shoulder.

Amaya breathed deep, calming her racing heart. Frantically wondering what she should do. Part of her didn't want to believe what Soren was telling her, but she knew him better than that. He wouldn't make up something this important.

But where to go from here? She didn't want to interrogate the kid, didn't want to add to his distress, but new questions kept boiling up inside her. Was any of this related to the troubles at the Embassy? Did Claudia have her own suspicions? And—

A chill stole through her. If Viren hadn't been personally responsible for bombing her dojo, then who was he working with? 'Someone from the palace', as Soren had said?

She bit her lip, hand clenching into a fist at her side. Could there be a conspiracy within the palace itself?

Amaya felt like she'd been thrown into a deep pit, and was fumbling about, desperately trying to grasp the shape of her darkened surroundings. She should tell someone—but who could she trust, other than Harrow himself? Opeli, probably—she'd never been shy about expressing her distaste for Viren. But they would both be deep in preparations for the summit by now.

Figure that out later, she decided. Taking care of Soren was her first priority. She handed him the cocoa again, watching him huddle around its warmth. "Hey," she signed. "You did the right thing, Soren. Thank you."

He nodded numbly, not even smiling as he usually did at her name sign for him—an S, tapped on her bicep. "It felt like I was betraying him, to come tell you," he said, and his jaw went mulish. "But you're my family, too."

Amaya grinned, chuffing his shoulder. "I'm glad I've got you looking out for me," she wrote—and flinched as her phone, half-forgotten in her pocket, buzzed.

 _Janai._ She yanked her phone out, flipped it open, registering only belatedly that the light was blue and the first buzz had been long. A distressing mix of relief and regret, upset and longing and soft affection, swirling within her as she read Callum's text. "Hey dodá. I hope you're ok. I've been super worried about you."

"It's Callum," she wrote to Soren. "Give me a moment." To Callum, she typed, "Hey, chamudi. It's good to hear from you. Last night was pretty scary, but I'm safe now."

"Oh good," he typed, and kept on typing, judging by the dots on Amaya's screen.

She took the chance to write to Soren. "I really appreciate you coming to me with this. You should head off to school now, leave the rest of it to me."

Soren read her words, then looked up at her with a determined glare. "I'm not gonna just head off to school and pretend nothing's wrong!"

Amaya's phone buzzed again. "So there's something I should probably tell you, but I don't know if it's actually a problem? But I should probably tell you anyway. You're still using that 200 year old phone, right?"

She scowled fondly, wondering why he cared. Typed out a response with one hand, writing with the other. "I can appreciate that," she told Soren. "But if your dad IS working against Katolis, we don't want to make anyone suspicious. The last thing we need is someone doing a truancy check on you."

"But I can do more to help you!" Soren insisted. Another text came in, but Amaya ignored it for the moment. "I can be an extra pair of hands, a gofer, whatever you need. Aren't you busy getting ready for the summit?"

"I am," she wrote, frustrated, and feeling more than a little hypocritical. "But I'm an adult. I've got experience doing a lot of difficult things at once. And what's most important to me right now is making sure you don't get in trouble. You'll help me most by going to school and pretending nothing is wrong."

Amaya pulled out her phone as she passed the notepad over. "Ok good, you should be safe then," Callum had texted. "Remember that phone you gave me? You said it was a present? Who gave it to you?"

She blinked down at her phone, new uneasiness stirring in her gut. Was it safe to tell him? What _was_ safe any longer? "Someone at the palace," she texted at last. "Why?"

Soren tapped on her arm. "This is more important than stupid school," he said, and swallowed hard, looking ill. "Dad's trying to restart the war, isn't he?"

Amaya sighed. "Probably," she wrote. There was no use denying it. "But to get more intel, I have to start using my security clearance, and you can't help with that. You've already been an incredible help, Soren. Now please, go to school and leave this to me. We could both be in danger otherwise."

She reached for her phone as it buzzed again, but the room's lights blinked before she could open it. Who was at the door _this_ time? She stood abruptly, suddenly wary, and caught Soren's attention. Signed 'don't move' to him as she crept toward the door.

This time, she remembered her door had a peephole. She peered through, some of her ballooning worry deflating at the sight of a palace staffer she recognized, a file folder stamped with the royal seal clutched in one hand. Harrow's promised report. She tugged the door open, signed greetings and thanks, dismissed the staffer with the friendliest smile she could manage right now.

"What is it?" Soren asked as Amaya set the folder aside on the coffee table. He was tense, his feet centered, ready to spring up if necessary.

"Just my daily briefing," she signed. The less he knew, the safer he'd be. She caught his gaze and held it, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced at the notepad, sighed heavily, and finally nodded. "I'll go to school," he said, a reluctant twist to his mouth. "But tell me if there's anything I can do for you, 'kay?"

"I will," Amaya signed. She stepped forward and pulled Soren into a hug, squeezing tight, lifting him from his feet. Smiling despite herself as she felt him laugh.

His face was serious, though, as he pulled away. "I don't know how... not-suspicious I'm gonna be," he admitted. "Claudia always says I can't lie to save my life."

Amaya ruffled his hair, then picked the notepad back up. "Think of it as a spy mission," she advised. "You're a deep-cover operative infiltrating a high school. Get me some good intel, okay?"

"I will," he promised, snapping her a salute and smiling when she did. He hefted his backpack and left, though Amaya didn't miss the look of concern he cast her just before the door closed behind him.

She let out a long, calming breath and flopped back down onto the sofa, squeezing her eyes shut. Free from the need to hold herself together for someone else, she pounded her fists into the soft cushions at her sides. Breathing hard, tears stinging her eyes. But she couldn't afford to fall apart yet. She still had things to do.

It took a few moments, but she managed to drag herself back upright. First things first—she picked her phone back up, hoping Callum didn't think something terrible had happened to her.

She'd accidentally pushed a button during the shuffle, though. Backing out of the conversation with Callum, into her inbox. And right below Callum's unread message were Janai's last words before Amaya left her behind.

The heat of Amaya's anger had been almost entirely doused by Soren's confession. By his insistence on rushing in to help, even though he was far from the best person for the job. A mirror held up to reflect everything Amaya had done wrong that morning. She missed that anger—without it, she had little to distract her from shame and self-recrimination, from fear and worry and a startlingly crushing loneliness.

Amaya had a lot of people in her life who she loved. Gren, Corvus, Harrow. Callum and Ezran, Soren and Claudia. Various students, palace staff, townspeople who'd grown close to her over the past few years. But no one had ever known her like Sarai had. Even Gren, for all that he was Amaya's best friend, couldn't understand the darkest parts of Amaya's heart. It had been nearly a decade since Amaya had known someone who could speak to her soul.

But Janai— _Janai_ , enemy general, Sunfire princess—had somehow gotten under Amaya's skin. She'd seen Amaya brought low and had stood beside her. And even when they had trouble conversing, Amaya could feel how much Janai _wanted_ to understand. How far she might be willing to go for Amaya.

Amaya had wanted to do the same. To throw her entire self into this... whatever was between them. But any relationship went two ways. Self-sacrifice was ultimately self-serving. Why hadn't she been able to see that when it had mattered that morning?

She bit her lip, tapped on Janai's message. She didn't know what she could say. 'I'm sorry' was inadequate. Inaccurate, almost. But she couldn't even articulate her thoughts to herself, much less text them to someone else.

At last, she decided on a vague, neutral reassurance. "home. safe. talk later." It felt cowardly, almost worse than sending nothing at all.

But... Amaya didn't think she could live with herself if she just left things where they'd fallen that morning.

She blew out a heavy breath, swapped back to Callum's message, hopefully before he panicked and ordered a wellness check on her apartment. The words there, though, sent a chill through her. "Um I think you need to have a ""chat"" with them, cause it was bugged."

"Bugged?" she typed, fumbling for the keys. Today kept getting worse and worse. "As in, someone was reading your data?"

"Yeah," came the response, almost immediately. She winced—had he been staring at his phone, waiting for her next message, the whole time she'd been distracted? "I didn't think to run a scan when I booted it up, but after what happened yesterday and some of the things King Harrow's mentioned at dinner, I thought I'd probably better."

His next text had a heavily embarrassed air, and Amaya could all but see him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope whoever it was got a laugh out of all my texts to Rayla."

"Rayla?" Amaya texted, grasping for anything to lighten the tone of the conversation. "Are they a friend? Or a 'friend'?"

"Shoes a fiend!" Callum texted, corrected a moment later to "She's a friend!" Despite her growing suspicions, Amaya couldn't help but laugh at his hasty reply. "She's the Xadian exchange student I was telling you about. She kinda ended up fighting me by accident? But we're past that now."

Amaya smiled, buoyed by this mental image. "Sounds like a long story," she said.

"MORE IMPORTANTLY," Callum wrote, "I went through and got rid of the malware. But then I got worried and I asked to see Ezran's phone, and it was bugged too. So I don't know if it's related to what happened to you or not, but I thought you oughta know."

"You asked how old mine was," Amaya recalled. "Is it too old for this malware to work?"

She breathed a sigh of relief at his response, obnoxious though it might be. "I think so. Usually older phones are easier to hack but yours is so ancient I dunno how it hasn't been bricked by the manufacturer. I don't think it's even heard of GPS. It probably doesn't even have the memory to load a keylogger."

"You've already lost me," Amaya replied, resisting the urge to type out an impassioned defense of her beleaguered phone. "I'm afraid that 'learning about computers' has been pretty far down my to-do list these past ten years or so."

She did, however, know some people who were _very_ knowledgeable about computers. One person in particular, someone who had tracked Amaya down when her schedule was so drastically different than usual, to hand her a compromised cellphone with the intent of replacing her 'ancient' phone.

And, she realized, dread like a lump of ice in her gut, one other person. Someone who was known throughout the five kingdoms as a computer whiz, someone had spoken so casually of derailing the peace talks.

Amaya had known Claudia for years. It hurt to suspect her of something so serious. But... at this point, she couldn't discount the possibility.

"I've been looking a lot into coding lately," Callum admitted. "It started out... well, because I wanted to impress Claudia, actually. But I'm really enjoying it! And I'm good at it! It's really nice to finally have something I'm good at."

"I'm glad," Amaya typed numbly. "I've got to start looking over some reports Harrow sent me, but it was so good to talk with you. I'll see you Saturday night?"

She froze, thumb still on the keypad. The summit. The ball. The signing of the treaty. So many things happening that weekend, so many opportunities for something to go wrong. And if there _was_ a palace conspiracy—

"I'll be there," Callum promised. "Love you, Aunt Amaya."

"Love you, too," Amaya sent, and snapped her phone shut, tugging the reports toward herself and flipping the folder open so quickly she nearly gave herself a paper cut. The updates were succinct. Impersonal.

Damning.

The palace, it seemed, had also been plagued by computer issues this past week or so. Opeli had nearly been transferred because of a glitch that had shuffled a number of position requests. Half of the Standing Battalion had been sent active duty notices. Several old requisitions orders had been mistakenly renewed, ordering everything from weapons to rations for the palace stores.

Convenient errors, all.

Amaya lay back against the sofa arm, aching and exhausted, flipping through page after page of notes. Notes which Harrow had personally ordered delivered to her for days on end, though she'd seen nothing of them until this moment.

She pinched her eyes shut, covered them with one hand. There was so much to do. She had to figure out who in the palace she could trust. She had to gather enough information that Viren's involvement was undeniable. She had to....

Amaya startled, jerking awake, dizzy and disoriented. Nauseated, sticky-mouthed, her joints feeling like they'd been set on fire. Blinked around her livingroom as everything came back into focus. The empty breakfast dishes. Her cellphone, blinking 'low battery' at her. The papers she'd been reading, now scattered across the floor.

The sky outside her window was streaked with pink and orange, streetlights winking on all down the street. She'd been asleep for _hours_. Hours she'd wanted to spend investigating, tracking down leads, warning people.

She grabbed at once for her phone. Ignoring, for the moment, its pleas for a charger. Found several increasingly distressed texts from Soren, which fortunately read like he was still worried about the bombing. She hurriedly messaged back that she'd been asleep, though she wasn't sure what else might be safe to tell him. If _Ezran's_ phone had been compromised, it was almost certain that Soren's was, too. She finally sent a carefully worded note about 'the project you wanted help on', hoping that he'd catch all the various implications.

A text from Callum, informing her that he'd tried to report that Harrow's phone might be compromised. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to get in contact with any of Harrow's team he personally knew and trusted. One from Harrow himself, asking to make certain she'd received his report; she winced at this, but the question was vague enough that Viren might not suspect anything. Quite a few emails from palace staff, hammering out last-minute summit preparations.

Nothing from Janai.

Amaya snapped her phone shut, stared at it for a long moment. Resisted the urge to throw it across the room. It was a faithful little device; it didn’t deserve such rough treatment. Instead she set it aside, blowing out a long breath that tossed her tangled hair from her face.

She didn't know what to think. What to _do_. She wasn’t ready to move past the argument yet, even after that morning's insight into Janai's reasoning. Not yet willing to reconcile, mostly—she had to concede—out of sheer stubbornness. But Amaya missed her terribly. They'd been in near-constant contact this week, and having that solid reassurance yanked away felt like missing a step on a flight of stairs.

Amaya didn't have time for this. The ball would start in just over forty-eight hours. So little time to work with. And... tomorrow was Friday. This week, more than ever, Amaya needed the calming security of Shabbat.

And yet she found herself picking up her phone again, staring at her last message. Left on read.

What more could she say?

###### 

Janai sat in a now-empty conference room, flipping distractedly through her dayplanner with the nagging feeling that she'd forgotten something. She'd caught up on her emails, somehow. Run information between a dozen departments, now that they were communicating sensitive data face to face instead of electronically. Even consented to sit down with the tailor, though she'd told em in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to wear a dress to the ball. All of her appropriate dresses fell into the category of sleek eveningwear. Far too restrictive, should there be an emergency—and after a bombing and a poisoning, it would be dangerously foolish to not suspect another disaster.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Janai jumped, spinning to see Sabah. The staffer charitably pretended not to notice Janai's obvious distraction. "The queen will be arriving shortly, ser. Shouldn't you be there?"

"Thank you," Janai said, shoving the dayplanner back into her bag to cover up the fact that she'd started to sign instead of speaking. "I'll be there shortly."

Sabah nodded and left the room, and Janai sighed, pushing herself up. Wondering if she had time to stop someplace with a mirror and double-check that she looked perfect. The last thing she wanted right now was for her first interaction with Khessa in Katolis to devolve into another lecture about appearances.

 _She'll likely be too busy getting fully briefed to pay any attention to me._ The thought stung, reassuring though it might be. It seemed those were the only two states she and Khessa had any longer: 'I don't have time for you' or 'you're not good enough'.

Janai shook her head, sharp with self-recrimination. If she worked herself up before the meeting, that would just make things worse. She smoothed her locs down one final time and strode from the room toward the receiving chamber.

She _was_ pushing her timings a little close, she admitted. The halls were all but empty of staffers, the embassy assembling to welcome their Queen. If Janai didn't hurry, Security might not even let her in.

A flicker of motion in a cross-corridor.

It took her several steps to realize what she'd seen. She backed up on instinct, peering down the hallway; no one there. No one _should_ be there. This hallway led to equipment storage.

Janai hesitated for a long, long moment. Gazing unseeing toward the receiving chamber. What would Khessa say if Janai didn't even turn up to greet her? The thought was horrifying.

But the thought of _not_ investigating, of trusting that someone in this terribly chaotic week was somewhere they shouldn't be for an entirely benign reason, was worse.

Janai spun on her heel and walked gingerly down the corridor, alert for anything out of place. Motion, sound. There—the soft click of a door latch. She peered around the corner, then crept toward the storage room. Pressed her ear to the door, listening to someone rummaging around within.

A voice. Janai flinched and covered her mouth as she strained to make out the words. "If we manage it, our people will be better off," someone said, in a rich, deep voice Janai didn't recognize.

"Isn't it taking too long, though?" complained a second person. This voice, at least, she thought she recognized as someone from accounting, though she couldn't place who.

The first person laughed. "If you want to strengthen a nation, you've got to break a couple of necks."

Janai's eyes widened helplessly, though doubt set in a moment later—had that actually been what she'd heard? Or had it been "If you want to survive initiation, you've got to take a couple of breaks?" The dual effort of eavesdropping and listening for anyone in the hallway was a considerable strain.

"...if we can't do it," the second person said, the first few words too muffled for Janai to make out.

The first person, at least, was still fairly clear. "Relax. All our jobs will be easier after this weekend." A pause, and then, "But we should get back to work. This summit isn't going to plan itself."

"I'll tell the others," the second person said, and Janai yanked herself backward as footsteps began approaching the door. She wasn't entirely certain of the layout in this part of the embassy, but thought there was a bathroom nearby. She let out a quiet breath of relief as she located the discreet sign, and ducked inside, locking the door behind her and leaning against it in the cool dark.

She didn't know what to think about what she'd overheard. Didn't even know if it was an actual problem and not just staffers wanting a break from the nonstop stress.

Janai slipped out of the bathroom once she no longer heard footsteps—and froze, pressing herself against the wall. Someone was exiting the room where she'd heard the voices, facing away from her. She didn't recognize them, though they wore an embassy uniform—and Janai knew that even she would recall someone so striking. Cool dark skin, thick silvery hair. Taller than Janai, which was astonishing.

They strode confidently down the corridor without a backward glance. Janai breathed again, turning to make her way back toward the receiving chamber. She held no illusions that her presence would be well-received by now, but still. It was her duty to be there.

Half an hour later—seated in the lavish royal quarters, paying only half-attention to Khessa's lecture—Janai reflected that the royal address itself could have gone worse. Security had, in fact, allowed her in, and she'd strode in and taken her seat as though she hadn't even noticed the time. Khessa had been visibly displeased, but at least Janai had been _there_.

Simple attendance would not suffice, of course. She was all too aware of that. The inevitable lecture was, in part, deserved, although that did nothing to ease the irritation of her sister's condescension. The lecture was a familiar one—Janai found herself quoting parts of it under her breath. "You have a duty to this throne, a duty to this crown...."

Still, Janai waited patiently for the chance to interrupt the flow. It came at last when Khessa's smartwatch—gold, of course, to match her gorgeous gold lace dress, her gold-and-cream silk headscarf—buzzed against her wrist. She glanced down, frowning. Which was little different than usual, Janai thought wryly.

"I apologize for my presumption, sister," she said, and Khessa looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "But have you been briefed on the state of the embassy this week?"

Khessa's mouth twisted, sour. "I am aware of the difficulties, yes. Have the Katolians responsible been found?"

"Actually, I have been working with Katolis to investigate the issue," Janai said. Not bothering to elaborate. Khessa wasn't likely to care. "Their ambassador has been very forthcoming." She caught her sister's gaze, held it. "I trust her, Khessa."

Janai could see that Khessa wished to argue. Doubt in her eyes, disbelief tightening her lips. But instead she sighed, her features falling into an almost fond expression. Almost sad, even. "You have always trusted easily, my little sunbeam," Khessa said, shaking her head. "If only Katolis were more worthy of your trust."

The endearment struck Janai hard, and she fought back the urge to flinch. It had been years since Khessa had called her that. Years since she'd acted more as a sister than as a monarch. Did she, too, regret the distance that had grown between them? Was it foolish to hope as much? 

"Thank you for your concern, arábìnrin," Janai murmured, the old endearment shaped oddly in her mouth after so long. She glanced at the time and stood. "Regrettably, I must take my leave. There is still much to be done."

Khessa nodded, her sigh only a little impatient. "If you must. But I do hope you will find time among your many duties to speak with your beloved elder sister."

"I will," Janai promised, turning to leave.

Her sister's voice halted her progress. "Are you aware of the latest news from the Katolis palace?" When Janai shook her head, Khessa continued, "You had best familiarize yourself with it, and soon. It might concern you."

Cold dread settled into Janai's stomach. "Thank you," she gasped, and fled the room with a hasty "By your leave," pulling her phone from her pocket the moment the door closed behind her.

 _DA's attempt to halt summit blocked,_ read the top story on her screen. She flicked through, skimming the journalistic language. A High Councilor Opeli had argued that continuing the summit after 'last night's terror attack' was 'inviting chaos', a sentiment which Janai was surprised to find she agreed with.

Unfortunately, a small but vocal group of her fellow councilors had argued that there was no evidence linking the bombing at the dojo to either side. 'This seems to be a purely personal vendetta,' a councilor named Saleer had stated. 'Peace is within our grasp. We cannot allow possibly unrelated crimes to scare us away from it.'

Janai frowned, troubled. _That_ was a particularly troubling spin. The statement implied that anyone who logically assumed the bombing to be politically motivated was unpatriotic.

Had Amaya seen this?

 _I should ask her,_ Janai thought, scrolling through the article as she walked back toward her room. _Even if she doesn't want to talk to me right now, she needs to know this. She might even know these people._

Janai unlocked her door, settled into her desk chair, phone in hand. What to say? Should she apologize, even though Amaya had been in the wrong? Should she pretend nothing had happened?

She finally settled on texting a link to the article. "Have you seen this?"

Her stomach jolted as dots appeared at once, as though Amaya had been waiting hours for a reply. "not yet," she texted. "let me read."

An interminable few moments, while Amaya no doubt brought up the article and skimmed through it much as Janai had. Her response, when it came, was succinct. "shit."

A startled laugh fell from Janai's lips. "Do you know them?" she asked, wondering if it would seem rude to adopt Amaya's casual way of texting. She didn't quite dare, worried about offending Amaya. And her own phone autocorrected capitals and punctuation in any case.

"yes." Dots. "i trust opeli with my life. dont trust saleer far as i can throw him."

Janai frowned down at her phone. _That_ was far from comforting. "Meaning 'he's an officious toady'? Or 'he might be trying to destabilize our countries'?"

"all of the above?" Amaya replied. "havent known him to commit treason before. wouldnt put it past him tho." A long pause, then more dots appeared just as Janai was beginning to type a response. She backspaced at once. "found some bad shit today. makes this even more worrying."

"Oh?" Janai asked, dreading the answer.

Amaya's next message was... cryptic. Janai read and reread it. Then a flash of insight struck as she recognized the syntax, reminiscent of the sign language videos she'd been watching. "talk not-safe, before drink place message leave. soon. you not-meet, understand." Janai signed the words she recognized as she translated it. _It's not safe for me to text you. I'll drop something off shortly, at the cafe we always meet at. I'll understand if I don't see you there._

She sent Amaya a thumbs-up in response, wondering at the woman's sudden reticence. It didn't feel like she was shunning Janai, even after this morning. More like she was... afraid.

_But of what?_

Janai sighed, tipping back in her chair. Should she rush out to the cafe? Did she _want_ to see Amaya right now? Well... yes. She did, desperately. But with Khessa in residence, Janai could find herself confined to the embassy. Unable to hurry to any meeting place.

And... she didn't know what she might do when she saw Amaya again. Beg for forgiveness, though she'd done nothing wrong? Or would this morning's hurt feelings surge all over again, tainting any potential face-to-face conversation?

Feeling like a coward, Janai turned her attention back to her computer. She'd give it an hour. If she found Amaya at the coffeeshop when she arrived... Well, Janai would figure out what to do then. She would probably end up saying something foolish about fate bringing them together.

In the meantime, Janai needed to do some digging. The internal data accessible from her room had been severely restricted by the de-digitization, but she still had access to public records. She had to hope they would hold answers for her.

She began with the accounting rosters, scanning through and double-checking each person against her dayplanner, trying desperately to remember faces and—more importantly—voices. She tracked the staffer down at last, or at least thought she had. Pulled up their personnel file and found it utterly unexceptionable.

_This isn't helping. What more can I do?_

Frowning, she recalled the second person. The one she hadn't recognized. She strained to recall any identifying details. Rank insignia? Personal touches on their uniform?

She lost track of time as she chased leads down one rabbit hole after another. Pulling up cached departmental newsletters, doing online searches for articles about the embassy.

Janai almost missed the photo. Scrolling through employees' social media profiles, in the desperate off-chance someone had 'friended' one of her targets. A senior staffer had posted an album from a party held at the embassy last year—and there, in the background of one of the photos, was the silver-haired employee. Tall and handsome, with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug twist to their lips.

She moused over the photo, and a tag popped up, added by the staffer who'd posted the photo.

Janai froze, heart pounding.

'Jideofor Shehu'.

###### 

Amaya sighed, leaning on her livingroom windowsill, gazing out at the street below. The bustle of people walking home from work increasing, shadows stretching long as the sun sank closer to the horizon.

Sunset was approaching.

She breathed deep, tasting yeast and slow-cooked vegetables. Her stomach growled in response, though she didn't really feel hungry. She'd been too busy today to be hungry.

And too worried. 

Amaya had flung herself into investigations yesterday with single-minded focus. Busy enough that she hadn't discovered until after the fact that Callum had gone to 'visit Claudia' and return some notes he'd borrowed, and had ended up bringing Soren back to the palace with him to 'gather information'.

Her first instinct, once Callum had finally told her, had been to lecture them about risk and responsibility until her wrists hurt. Which she still intended to do, once she finally got to sit down with the both of them—but she'd had to admit grudging respect once he narrated their grand adventure. Working together, he and Soren had managed steal or hack the cellphones of several of the palace staffers Amaya trusted, removing the spyware to give her better access to the palace. 

She had told Callum in no uncertain terms that there had been safer ways to go about his self-appointed task, though she did appreciate the skills and quick thinking he'd displayed. Unfortunately, Amaya herself had little to show for it. Many of her subsequent investigations had come up short, suspiciously stonewalled by advisors or councilors or even kitchen staff.

And she still hadn't managed to get through to Harrow. Understandable, though frustrating; she knew what a dilemma she must have thrown him into. His sister-in-law attacked on the eve of their monument to peace, when suspicions and tensions were already running high. He was probably firmly in damage-control mode, and for how long, Amaya couldn’t guess.

Not to mention the fact that Amaya had no idea what she _could_ tell him. It was no secret that she and Viren didn't get along. What would come of Amaya accusing Harrow's best friend of treason on the eve of the treaty's signing?

She'd done all she could, for now. Without concrete proof, Amaya couldn't accuse Viren—and even if she did, he had enough friends in the palace to counter her accusations. But she'd sowed seeds of suspicion. Security had been briefed. The others at the palace—and Janai—could take it from here.

_Janai._

Amaya sighed, watching someone walking their dog past her apartment building. She'd done what Janai wanted, after all. Stayed home where she was safe. Arranged things from afar between doses of painkillers.

She'd left her apartment twice, of course. Once last night, when she'd left a sealed envelope at the cafe, asking the cashier with the knowing grin to hold it for 'the woman I always meet here'. The implications had been clear, and Amaya had found herself blushing at the thought that other people saw them as a couple.

What even _were_ they to each other?

Janai's text of 'same' had come early that morning, as Amaya had fallen into another hour or so of restless sleep. She'd made her way to the cafe to grab a triple-strength espresso and Janai's return envelope, though she hadn't opened it until she'd been securely behind her locked door.

The news had been grim. Janai had done a thorough scan of her cellphone, and while she'd found no keyloggers, there had been a tracker running unnoticed in the background. And though she still had no more solid details than Amaya had, she'd discovered evidence of a conspiracy within the embassy as well. A staffer who'd come and gone mysteriously, leaving destruction in his wake.

A staffer who, Amaya had discovered as the sun crept over the horizon, had ties to the very same group of Katolis reactionaries who'd blocked the cancellation of the summit.

Her lights blinked in the pattern for the timer on her oven, and she stepped away from the window. Grabbed a mitt and pulled the tray of freezer rolls from the oven—she hadn't had the chance to stop anywhere and get bread, so she'd made do. Set them aside to cool as she checked on the slow-cooker full of cholent. 

She'd had to clean dust out of the pot to use it, unsure whether she'd actually touched it since she'd bought it more than two years ago. She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Janai that she didn't do much cooking. Usually, Amaya just ordered food from a nearby restaurant for her Friday night dinner, but this week, she'd had the terribly strong urge to work with her hands.

Even though it reminded her of Janai... and of Sarai.

Amaya stirred her cholent, breathing in its rich scents, thinking about family dinners as a kid. Sarai's weekly insistence on helping bake the challah, just because she loved the smell of bread dough. One of their parents reciting the kiddush as the other signed it. How excited Amaya always was to drop a few coins from her allowance into the pushke, knowing that once the box was full, she and Sarai would get to choose where to donate it.

Way back when Callum was young, Amaya had visited Sarai's home every Friday. The kitchen there had been warm and bright, full of laughter and delicious smells. But things had shifted after Sarai had lost her husband and Amaya's military duties had grown more all-consuming. And after the war, Amaya had felt... she wasn't quite sure. Like she'd missed too much to just go back to the way things had been. She'd become accustomed to spending Shabbat alone. It was easier to just continue.

She still celebrated holidays at the palace. Took pride in teaching Callum and Ezran about their heritage—the prayers, the songs, the traditions, the jokes. But she was shaken now to realize that she had no idea how her family celebrated Shabbat at the palace. Did Ezran sneak into the kitchens to help with the challah? Did Callum sit and study before sunset fell? Did Harrow still sign the kiddush?

Amaya had spent so long trying to get her life together after the war. Determined to prove to herself, to anyone who might be watching, that she'd got through everything intact. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. That she could still do anything she turned her mind to. But the end result was a life overloaded with so many external concerns that she barely had time for herself any longer. She wound up neglecting her family and herself, chasing some nebulous idea that if she helped enough people, she'd be able to make up for all the harm she'd caused Katolis... and Xadia.

But Amaya had nearly burned herself out, and she still saw the ashes of missed opportunities. She hadn't been there for so many of her nephews' accomplishments. What might have been different, been _better_ , if she'd been more present in their lives?

She sighed, glancing aside at the window. The sun had almost set. 

Amaya headed toward her bedroom, trying not to look at her bedside table as she opened the hall closet. She'd already laid out her clothes for the ball tomorrow, after much agonizing. It would be the first time she and Janai had seen each other since the argument, and she no longer knew what side of herself to show.

She turned deliberately away. Knowing that she'd keep second-guessing herself until the moment she stepped into the ball didn't make it any easier to stop. Still, she did her best to clear her mind as she reached up and took out candles, candlesticks, her kiddush cup. Brought everything into the living room, then returned to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cholent, a plate of rolls, a bottle of sweet wine.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Twenty minutes to sundown. She regretted the necessity of carrying the cellphone with her, but she couldn't afford to be out of communication for a full twenty-five hours, not with the week she'd had.

She set the candlesticks on the hall table, placed the candles—one each for herself, Sarai, Callum, and Ezran. Two sets of siblings, so different from one another, but brought together by love. Unity in duality.

With a deep, almost meditative breath, Amaya struck a match and lit the candles. Swept her hands around the flames four times, then closed her eyes, covering them momentarily before signing the blessing over the candles.

When she opened her eyes, her Shabbat had begun.

She turned, walked carefully over to the coffee table. Settled onto the sofa before her supper and signed the kiddush, sipped the wine. Got up to wash her hands at the sink, then signed the hamotzi over her rolls—she didn't usually bless her bread except on holidays, but this week, she felt compelled to. Rarely had she found herself so adrift, so in need of inner peace.

The cholent was hot, filling. Surprisingly good, considering how long it had been since Amaya had cooked much of anything. It was hard to ruin cholent, though—broth, beans, potatoes, figs. She'd seasoned it more than she was used to, added extra paprika and black pepper, bringing it right to the edge of discomfort. The rolls helped; she bit into one, breathing carefully. Usually she couldn't stand the lingering burn, but this time it reminded her of Janai, of that memorable lunch in Nkoyo. Friendship and laughter and warm promise.

The uncomfortable sensation reminded her, oddly, of how much it hurt right now to think of Janai. And of Sarai. Painful, but she was growing used to it. And she could see how it could become less painful with time, if she let herself accept a little help.

Amaya sighed, leaned back, sipping broth and letting her thoughts drift. Back to that fateful night when everything had gone so wrong, the night that had shattered her life. Years later, she was still picking up the pieces.

She'd been walking home with Sarai from a late-night snack run, laughing about the struggles of babyproofing as Ezran learned to crawl and discovered it was his new favorite thing in the world. The odd lighting of a side street, too many sources, too many shadows. Sarai had mentioned shouting voices, and changed course without a second thought—this was her home, these were her people.

They'd come across a protest, handmade signs with shocking slogans. A counterprotest already marched against them. Angry faces, tension seething in the air. One side had thrown something—a rock? A bottle? A piece of paper? Amaya would never be sure what started it.

She recalled the shock of recognizing Harrow's friend in the front row of the anti-Xadian protesters. Watching him drop, clutching his head, as a lucky shot struck home.

_"Amaya, stay out of this. Let me go talk to them."_

Amaya shivered, taking another bite of cholent. The official investigation had concluded Sarai's death had been a tragic accident. Too many people disagreed. Amaya had found herself caught up in the fervor—it _couldn't_ be true that someone like Sarai, kind and patient and wonderful, could just die by accident. On a day like any other.

She knew better now. Knew that it took only one wrong move, one misstep, to end a life. She'd seen it happen during the war, more times than she could count. But the lesson had come far too late.

And now, she was letting that newfound fear drive her. Trying to take on everything herself, to keep her friends and family out of the action. Just as useless as blaming someone. She could do nothing to prevent random chance. All she _could_ do was hold those she loved close, make certain that they knew with every breath how much she loved them.

Amaya breathed out, long and calming, feeling peace settle over her at last. She had the rest of Shabbat before her. Plenty of time to come to terms with the mistakes she'd made since the end of the war, to start herself on a path of change and growth.

To see if she could make room in her life to fit another person, if that other person wished it—

Her lights blinked.

It took her a bewildered moment to recognize the pattern as her doorbell. Another moment to remember what she should _do_ about it. She stood abruptly from the sofa, fumbling her half-empty bowl, and managed to get it onto the coffee table before she spilled. Panic already unfurling in her chest. Had something gone wrong? What could be so important that someone would be sent to her home instead of texting her, especially on a Friday night?

She hurried to the door, yanked it open—and recoiled.

Viren smiled down at her, benevolent, like a parent indulging an unruly child. "I hoped I would find you here," he said. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Amaya gripped the doorknob until her fingers began to ache. Her first impulse was to sign 'yes, of _course_ I mind,' and slam the door shut in his condescending face. But _no_. She'd gone to so much trouble to keep Viren from knowing she was on to him. Turning him away now would only rouse his suspicions—and possibly his ire. If Viren wanted to kill her, angering him might drive him to accelerate his plan to do so.

But still, she seethed at the audacity. To force himself into her home, her sacred space, on _Shabbat_? He'd known Amaya for more than a decade. He worked at the _palace_. Every event there was scheduled around Shabbat. Council meetings, interviews, parties—all had to wait until after Saturday sundown, so Harrow could spend the day with his sons. Had Viren really not noticed?

Did he really not care?

"Come in," she signed at last. Stepped back and allowed him to brush past her. Still reeling from the implications. He didn't understand KSL—she'd have to use her notepad to speak with him. Her family had always interpreted muktzeh and melachot in ways that allowed Amaya to communicate, but his oily presence made her want to be contrarily conservative.

Viren sat himself on Amaya's sofa, so she elected to stand, leaning back with her elbows on the ledge between kitchen and livingroom. "I'm so glad to see you're safe," he started, his eyebrows drawn down in what she read as carefully-manufactured concern. "It's such a shame, what happened to you. The city just isn’t safe these days."

Could he lay it on any thicker? Amaya simply nodded, signed an insincere 'thank you', not trusting herself to write anything resembling pleasantries right now. 

He hardly seemed to notice, rushing ahead into his next no-doubt-preplanned statement. "My people have been searching tirelessly for those responsible for the attack on the dojo. And we may have tracked down a lead."

Viren pulled a handful of photographs from his pocket, held them out. Amaya grudgingly accepted them, began to flip through them.

Her stomach dropped, her fingers tightening so hard on the photos that she creased their edges. Each was of Janai. Janai, dressed in that gorgeous charcoal suit. Standing on a busy sidewalk, glancing suspiciously around herself. Checking her cellphone. Striding toward the back door of Amaya's dojo.

There was no way these photographs showed the truth. Even if Amaya hadn't been warned about Viren's plans, she knew Janai's heart. Knew how much Janai was willing to sacrifice, by now, for peace. How much she now cared about what happened to _both_ their countries.

Amaya frowned, peering suspiciously at the photos. While Amaya didn't know much about computers, she knew well from Callum, from her students' reports, what an advanced digital artist could create.

This had to be Viren's last-ditch attempt to keep Amaya in his plans. Plans that, apparently, involved using her as a weapon against Xadia. Against _Janai_.

Amaya thought fast. What reaction would he expect from her? Shock? Fear? Anger? Anger wouldn't be hard to feign—she was furious with Viren. At his intrusion into her space, his manipulation of his children, his lies and slander and political dealings.

At his involvement in Sarai's death, petty as this anger might be. Never forgotten, never forgiven. If his hatred for Xadia hadn't brought him to that street, that night—if he hadn't been so powerless to protect himself—Sarai might still be alive.

Shaking with rage, Amaya put pen to paper. "How dare they," she wrote, hating the smug glint in Viren's eyes. "I thought they were committed to this treaty."

"You, of all people, must know by now that we can't trust the Xadians," Viren urged.

"What are you going to do?" Amaya asked. Knowing his response would be a fiction.

Viren sat back, sighed theatrically. "The summit presents a host of difficulties," he said. "I shall endeavor to convince Harrow to postpone signing the treaty until our investigation is concluded. Their ambassador may be a single rogue element, but I don't think so. Do you?"

"No," Amaya signed, short and sharp. "We have to stop them," she wrote. Glaring up at Viren.

He nodded. "I'm sure you'll be safe," he said, condescending reassurance on his features. "They wouldn't have the audacity to attack you again."

"Thank you for your concern," Amaya wrote, tucking away a disgusted grimace. Shifting it into a worried frown. "I'll need some time to process this."

"Of course," Viren said, standing smoothly from the sofa. He ducked his head to Amaya, then said, "I'll take my leave."

Amaya signed "Thank you," the most sincere she'd been during this whole conversation. Kept up her pleasant façade until he closed the door behind himself.

Then she grabbed one of the pillows on her couch and punched it until her aching muscles shook. Flopped down, hands fisted in her hair, shaking her head from side to side. Anything to quell the raging storm of upset whirling within her.

How dare he. How _dare_ he.

Her concentration was shattered. Inner peace lost. She had to contact people. Set things into motion, after this latest development.

She had to tell Janai that Viren might be trying for her next.

Amaya pulled her feet up onto the sofa, wrapped her arms around her knees. Let out a trembling breath. She wanted Janai _there_ , with her. Janai would know the right words to say. The right signs. Janai would be able to commiserate, to help her figure out their next step.

She pictured Janai dishing herself a bowl of cholent, teasing Amaya about the spice level. Tears stung her eyes. She'd scarcely felt longing stronger than in this moment, wishing that she and Janai were safe. That she could have spent today sharing her heritage with Janai, bringing her to the palace to hold a big family dinner free from worry about all the forces moving against them.

But wishing was pointless. Amaya was a woman of action. And though it tore at her to have to get back to work on Shabbat, to abandon her attempt at healing, it helped—at least a little—to know that her actions might be saving lives.

Amaya cast a long look toward the candles still lit on her side table, at the remains of her supper, and pulled out her cellphone.

Next week, she promised herself. This would all be over by then.

For better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not Jewish, but my QPP is converting, so I ran Amaya's Shabbat by them to make sure the details and emotions were accurate. I've got extensive headcanons about Amaya's practices; most of them boil down to 'she's still in the process of redefining how she interacts with her Jewish identity after the loss of her sister'. She's adapted certain aspects of Shabbat here, like the candles, to be more personally spiritual than religiously significant.
> 
> Also, re: Callum using the bugged phone, please enjoy the thought of Viren's excitement when Amaya finally turns on the phone, quickly devolving into bafflement as the first text message exchange is 'heyyyy *winky face*', followed by 'new phone who dis'.


	10. Culmination

The background air of pleasant conversation in the ballroom felt strained to Janai as she moved through the space, greeting dignitaries and pretending she wasn't checking sight lines. A little too loud, a little too jovial, as though everyone there was trying to distract themselves from worry.

Or, Janai thought wryly, she was just projecting. There'd been no new incidents since the swap to physical security. Many of the staffers seemed content to believe the attacks had been purely digital, and though Janai had relayed everything she'd discovered to Security, she had no solid proof for them to act on.

She had only her intuition, and Amaya's. Two generals who'd spent so long at war that peace sometimes felt wrong. And while she understood how others could accept the apparent safety bought by the increased security measures, she could not do the same—even though, at times, she doubted her own suspicions. Feared that they were born of an inability to believe the hostility could actually cease.

What if she and Amaya _were_ just seeing plots where there was nothing? Connecting dots that held no actual relevance, because it was easier to believe they were under attack?

But... even if that were true, Amaya's dojo had still been bombed. Someone had hacked the Embassy. Keeping on high alert was uncomfortable, but letting her guard down was unthinkable. If they were wrong, no harm done.

And if they were right....

Janai shook her head, plucked a drink from a passing tray with a nod of thanks to the waitstaff, just to have something to do with her hands. Tried not to think about how her anticipation wasn't solely from worries about outside forces moving against them.

She glanced toward the entrance doors with the distinct sense of déjà vu. Once again standing in her elaborate dress uniform, waiting for Amaya to come through the doors. Angry. Intrigued. But this time, she couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation running through her. What would Amaya be wearing? What would she say when she saw Janai?

How would Janai reply? She was resolved to keep things calm and civil, at the very least. But it seemed to her that every time she saw Amaya, her resolve abandoned her, and she found herself saying— _doing_ —things she'd never have imagined. The official setting, those assembled, would hopefully keep either of them from saying things they'd regret later—but what might arise in their place?

Janai remembered that breathless, charged feeling that filled the air whenever their eyes met. Clutched at her untouched drink to keep her fingers from trembling. She wasn't just worried that they might end up yelling at each other. She and Amaya lived in emotional extremes, and some of those extremes seemed, to Janai, more dangerous even than her former hatred.

A sharp uptick in the noise level, drowning out the soft drumbeats and the whistle of woodwinds from the orchestra section. Janai spun to see the mingled crowd parting, leaving a path free from the wide doors at one end of the hall to the raised dais where Khessa spoke with several of her councilors. Janai flinched as someone cleared their throat behind her—she'd been too distracted to notice anyone approaching. _Sloppy. Do you_ want _to get yourself killed?_

"It's time?" she asked.

The staffer nodded. "The Katolian delegation has arrived, ser. The Queen requests your presence."

Janai nodded, sharper than she'd intended. Handed her drink over and strode across the room, trying to ignore the way her palms were sweating. She fell into parade rest beside Khessa with a murmured word of greeting, shoulders squared, facing the entrance. Waiting, her heart pounding loud in her ears.

The doors swung open.

 _She's wearing a_ dress _._

Janai's brain short-circuited, unable to keep hold of any thought other than the sight of Amaya striding toward her, tall and proud. A suit jacket worn open atop dark blue fabric which spilled over her shoulders, down her hips. Clinging to the muscles in her thighs, the slight curve of her chest. Brushing her knees in an asymmetrical hemline over leggings. The rest of Katolis' royal family were shadows beside her.

Amaya caught Janai's eye from halfway across the room, and a smirk overtook her stern features. A crooked, lopsided smile, all smug pleasure and raised brows. She clearly knew _precisely_ what she was doing to Janai, and had no doubt chosen her outfit for the ball with the hope of seeing this exact reaction.

Janai seethed. How dare this damnably infuriating woman be so... so _right_. Janai wanted nothing more than to storm across the room, dignitaries be damned, and give Amaya a piece of her mind.

Although, come to think of it, hissing 'you're too fucking gorgeous, _stop it_ ' at the ambassador of a formerly hostile nation was probably not the worst idea Janai had ever had. She had to admit, there was some merit to the notion.

The delegation came to a halt before Khessa's dais, and Janai reminded herself firmly to _breathe_. She just needed to get through one night. Just a few hours of pleasantries, and then... and _then_ she could drag Katolis' ambassador off to a secluded room and start screaming at her.

Janai's eyes crossed with the thought of what other uses she and Amaya might find for a secluded room, and she gave herself a surreptitious but sharp pinch, hands still clasped behind her back. _Focus, for the Light's sake!_

"Queen Khessa," King Harrow began. A deep bow, one fist pressed to his quilted doublet, light glinting from the golden crown nestled in his bundled locs. "It's an honor to meet you in person at last."

His voice was a pleasant baritone, soft and warm, the kind of voice that always had a smile behind it. It didn't match the mental picture Janai held of him from official reports and political cartoons: a harsh and angry king who was determined to take what wasn't his, at the cost of anyone who got in his way.

It _did_ , however, match the impressions she'd gotten from Amaya. A man with kind eyes, who loved too much, too hard, and had broken under the strain of grief. A man who was now trying his best to rebuild what he'd helped shatter.

Khessa nodded, crossing her wrists, though she didn't raise her hands above her chest. A subtle snub. Had Harrow noticed? Would he care? "The honor is mine," she said dispassionately. "I look forward to ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity for both our lands." She glanced aside, tipped her head slightly. Janai stepped forward as prompted. "My sister Janai, Golden Knight of Lux Aurea, heir to the Sunfire throne."

"I am pleased to meet you," Janai murmured. It wasn't even quite a lie. She bowed to the King, palms crossed properly before her face. Surprised and a little pleased as she straightened to find a genuine smile on his wide face. "I have been enjoying my time in your lands, and hope I will continue to do so."

Harrow's smile broadened, a dimple forming in one cheek. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, and beckoned his children forward. "My son Ezran," he said. "Crown prince of Katolis."

"Your Radiance," said the smaller of the boys. He bowed low, and Janai hid a grin at his mop of untamed curls, so like her own hair had been at his age. His doublet matched his father's, rich maroon fabric quilted with golden thread, the motif of the uneven towers subtly worked along the cuffs and collar. The colors were surprisingly similar to the fabric of Khessa's own iro and buba. Janai had wondered whether the understated decorations she'd come to associate with Katolis would look cheap beside the lavishly embroidered iborun draped over Khessa's shoulder, but she was pleased to find they struck her as refined and elegant rather than shabby.

"And my son Callum," Harrow continued, motioning for the other boy to bow. He did so rather more awkwardly than his little brother. "Ezran's advisor."

"It's an honor to meet you," Callum said, smoothing his hands nervously down the thick blue fabric of his kimono. The obi had already shifted slightly out of place—he was obviously not used to formal clothing. Or, Janai thought with some amusement, watching him try and fail to actually look at Khessa, formal situations in general. An interesting flaw for a prince, to be sure, though Amaya had mentioned that Sarai had married into the royal family after Callum's birth.

It struck Janai then that she was meeting Amaya's nephews. Sarai's sons. Janai glanced between them, comparing them to the statue of their mother. Her sharp chin and kind eyes. Janai didn't know what she'd expected of them, but she saw no hostility there. Was it too much to hope that they didn't blame Xadia for all that had happened to their family?

Then Harrow glanced aside, and Janai forgot how to breathe. "My sister," he said at last, gesturing with his chin, and Amaya stepped forth. "General Amaya, Hero of the Breach."

Just as on that first day with Janai, Amaya dropped to one knee and pressed her fist to her chest. A deep, sincere bow, which incidentally gave Janai a glimpse down her dress. Janai nearly choked. "I'm pleased to meet you," Amaya signed to Khessa as she stood, Kazi's interpretation mere background noise to Janai. "And I am eager to learn more about your people and your land as we continue to work together."

Janai knew her sister well enough to pick out the sneer behind her regal mask. Khessa obviously didn't think much of her former enemy's 'eagerness'. Still, she gave a polite nod. "Your reputation precedes you," she said, casting a sharp glance at Janai, who did her best to look like she hadn't just been ogling an ambassador. "I trust that we will all act in good faith from this day forward."

Amaya nodded, clearly determined to ignore the thinly-veiled insult. "For the good of our people." She stepped back at last, giving Janai room to breathe.

Khessa and King Harrow spoke a little longer, formal pleasantries for the opening of the ball, but Janai's attention was still centered on Amaya. This close, no longer so stunned from that dramatic entrance, Janai could see through Amaya’s careful bearing. She was clearly still in pain—the deliberate set of her shoulders, her softly clenched fists. The edge of a bandage peeked out from behind one of her lapels, and Janai had to hold herself back from cupping Amaya's chin, turning her head to get a better look at the half-hidden scrape along her jawline.

Of course, this close, Janai could _also_ see just how well Amaya's dress clung to her figure. The fabric looked impossibly soft, and Janai's fingers itched to brush against it. Amaya's biceps challenged the sleeves of her jacket, and—

The headscarf Janai had bought for Amaya peeked from her breast pocket, crisply folded. Red and brown and gold. When Amaya had chosen it, Janai had tried her level best not to read too much into the colors' significance. But seeing that Amaya had worn it here, now, even though it didn't match her dress—

_Breathe, Janai._

Khessa dismissed Harrow at last, and he bowed once more before leading his family off to speak with one of the Katolian delegates. Janai twitched, feeling pulled along in Amaya's wake. She arrested the motion, turning instead to Khessa. "If I might have your leave to mingle, your Radiance?" she asked.

"You may," Khessa said. Looking Janai over carefully, an all-too-knowing look dawning in her eyes. "Go speak with your 'fellow ambassador', if you must."

Janai gave a firm nod, desperately trying not to react to the smugness in Khessa's voice, and hustled off after King Harrow and his companions, Kazi at her side.

Amaya was watching intently as the King spoke to several Katolians, but she turned when Janai approached, a smile flickering on her lips. "Hi," Amaya signed, as casual as anything. Her warm gaze raked over Janai's jacket, leaving her feeling oddly exposed. "That looks good on you. I've always thought so, even if it _is_ a little over-the-top."

Now that she was here at last, standing before Amaya, Janai found that her anger, her upset, were gone. Irretrievable. She managed, at least, not to blurt out "I missed you," which for a long moment was the only thing she could think to say. The thought was absurd. They'd seen each other two days ago, and they'd been very busy since then, and they still didn't know each other very well—

And still, Janai had found herself missing Amaya so much that she'd ached with it.

"Good evening," Janai said instead, glad Amaya couldn't hear the slight crack in her voice. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "You... you look...."

Incredible? Amazing? Distressingly attractive? Amaya's smirk grew stronger with every moment Janai struggled to find a word that was both accurate and professional. "Thank you," Amaya signed, before Janai actually managed to finish the sentence. Then her smile softened, and she tugged Janai over toward her family. Tapped King Harrow on the shoulder as he wrapped up his own conversation.

King Harrow's face lit when he turned, and Janai took a reflexive half-step back, not expecting such strong emotion from him. "It's so good to have the chance to speak with you," he said, holding out one hand; Janai shook it on instinct, her brain feeling three steps behind. "Amaya's told me about how much you've been helping her this past week."

Janai glanced, startled, at Amaya, whose face was deliberately casual. "She has helped me—my embassy—far more than I've helped her," Janai said. "I have been told you were the one who requested we work together. I never expected to find myself saying this, but thank you, your Majesty."

The King's laugh was warm and bright. "The pleasure was mine," he said, casting a fond look toward Amaya. "And it gives me much hope for the future to see the two of you, especially, putting your differences behind you. If only more of my staff would do the same."

"Perhaps we might act as an example," Janai said. "It is my hope that we can plan more events together in the future, to help both our countries grow used to coexistence."

"I'd like that," Prince Callum said, then clapped his mouth shut, glancing away in clear embarrassment.

Was he afraid he'd spoken out of turn? "Have you any ideas?" Janai asked, wishing she had more experience speaking with children.

He brightened at this, to Janai's relief. "Yeah, Aunt Amaya and I were talking the other day about doing a gallery show." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm... studying to be an artist."

"A worthy profession," Janai said, nodding. She turned her attention to Ezran. "And you, Prince Ezran? What do you like to do?"

The young prince bounced on his heels. "I'm learning to heal animals!" he said proudly. "I'm gonna be King someday, of course, but I can still be a vet. I take care of my toad and Dad's bird!"

"That sounds excellent," Janai said, hoping a question about her own hobbies wasn't incoming. She'd grown uncomfortably aware, over the past week, that she had few hobbies outside her job. Perhaps Amaya could help her find something—

She cut off _that_ line of thought before she could fall too far into daydreaming. "I'll leave you to enjoy the ball," she said, "but I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you."

"As do I," King Harrow said, with a short bow, and he moved off to speak with someone else, both princes trailing after him.

Amaya, to Janai's delight-slash-distress, did not follow them.

"It's good to see you tonight," Amaya signed, her features touched with unexpected melancholy. "I wish we could have met up sooner, but it's been a rough couple of days." Her smile went wry. "How are you holding up?"

"Better than I expected," Janai admitted. Sparing a smile for Kazi, who had apparently decided to go full-in and interpret Amaya's voice with audible fondness. "I find myself wound tight, but I no longer feel so panicked. There's nothing more we can do at this point."

Amaya nodded. "I'm still jumping whenever I see people move quickly," she signed. "It'll be a relief when this ball is over." She sighed, then glanced up at Janai, deliberately bright. "Save me a dance?"

Janai locked her knees, forcing herself to stay upright. It wasn't _fair_ for Amaya to look at her like that, soft and hopeful and open. Janai still hadn't quite forgiven her for their argument. They still needed to have a number of serious discussions, though this was far from the ideal venue.

"I will," she found herself promising, warmth blossoming in her chest at Amaya's answering smile.

Then Amaya stiffened, abruptly alert, her gaze intent on the door of the room. "It's him," she signed, turning surreptitiously away from the door. "I should go. The less he sees us together, the better—as far as he knows, I'm blaming you for what happened."

It took a moment of scrambling backpedaling for Janai's thoughts to catch up. _Viren,_ she realized at last, feeling cold. "Good luck," she whispered, nodding farewell to Kazi. Then glanced toward the door for her first glimpse of the man Amaya suspected had caused all of Janai's problems that week.

Amaya's description had been spot-on. Tall and thin, impeccably if absent-mindedly dressed. Slightly overlong hair and a short, neat beard, carefully cultivated to make him look harmless, though he couldn't disguise the cold calculation in his eyes. Flanked by a pair of teenagers—one with a sweet face, long dark hair and a long dark dress; the other, tall and sandy-haired, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a perfectly tailored suit. _Claudia and Soren,_ Janai reminded herself. One of them a staunch ally of Amaya's, and the other....

Janai winced. Amaya hadn't wanted to believe that the girl she'd all but adopted might have aided Viren in his attacks. But Amaya also hadn't been able to discount the possibility, and that clearly distressed her. Concern leaking through the words of her hastily scrawled missives.

Viren stopped to speak with several people as he moved through the room, and Janai watched surreptitiously with narrowed eyes. Katolis staffers, all. Not surprising, considering all Amaya had told her about the man. Neither of his children followed him; Claudia broke off to stand against one wall, pulling a cellphone from her clutch bag, and Soren made a beeline toward King Harrow and the princes. 

And just in time. Viren, it seemed had been cutting it close. The lights in the ballroom brightened, and the music went quiet as Khessa stepped forward, a vision in crimson and gold. She announced the official commencement of the peace summit, then swept off the stage as the musicians picked back up, joining King Harrow for a ceremonial first dance.

Janai watched, impressed; Khessa had chosen a complex traditional Xadian dance, and King Harrow rose to the occasion. How long had he practiced in the past few weeks to get the steps right? It was a small gesture, but to Janai, it spoke to how serious he was about the success of the treaty. She could only hope Khessa felt much the same.

As the first song wound down and the two rulers bowed to one another, Amaya appeared at Janai's elbow. Repeated exposure to Amaya's outfit, unfortunately, did not seem to have an inoculating effect. Janai longed to touch her just as much as when she'd walked into the ballroom.

"Viren?" Janai asked in a whisper, realizing a moment later that she could have signed the name instead.

"Busy talking," Amaya signed, Kazi's interpretation also a whisper. "But it should be all right, even if he sees us now. We're evenly ranked—it'll be expected for us to meet up at some point during the peace summit."

She glanced up at Janai, and her face went warm and smiling, just for a moment. It was enough to steal Janai's breath. "I think you owe me a dance," Amaya signed.

Janai looked across the ballroom. Now that the monarchs had left the dance floor, other dignitaries were taking their place. Most of the dancers were paired with someone from their own side, but Janai picked out a few high-ranking Xadians who had asked their Katolian counterparts for a dance.

It wouldn't be _too_ untoward for the two of them to join the dancers, Janai decided, after the most halfhearted of internal debates.

"Should we wait for another song?" she asked. "This one doesn't have much of a beat. It'll be harder for you to keep time."

Amaya shook her head. "I'll follow your lead," she signed, with the gentlest smile.

Janai let out a trembling breath. Never before had such a simple sentiment hit her so hard. Leaving her palms sweating, her heart pounding, as she strode onto the dance floor. Amaya at her side.

The muscles of Amaya's back were firm under Janai's fingertips as the two of them met in the center of the floor, hand in hand. Janai frantically dredged up memories from etiquette classes, years ago. A dance was like a martial drill, in a way. Precise gestures, moving in time with your opponent—or, well, dance partner. She stepped forward, and Amaya stepped back at the same moment. Janai turned to the side, and Amaya turned with her, palms pressed together.

It was the same way Amaya must spar, Janai realized. Watching Janai tense before she moved, trusting her own body to respond in turn. Janai grew bolder then, pushing Amaya further. Spinning her out, then pulling her back in. Janai's hand skimming up Amaya's arm, feeling her muscles flex. The look of concentration on Amaya's face. Their feet twisting around each other, faster and faster, every step a risk, but they moved together like they'd practiced for weeks.

Janai slid one hand around Amaya's back, shifted her weight, dipping Amaya low. Entranced by the flush painted across Amaya's cheeks, the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, the way her chest rose and fell with exertion as she clutched at Janai's jacket—

A scream cut through the air.

Janai's head whipped up, sharply enough that pain flashed down her neck. Parsing the scene in scattered glimpses as the room erupted into chaos, dignitaries running for the exits and finding them blocked—by waitstaff?

Dread coiled in Janai's stomach—she recognized several of the people currently barring the doors. She'd passed them in the hallways, seen them in the lunchroom. Now she saw them training weapons on well-dressed, high-ranking officials. Herding them into huddled groups.

She tugged Amaya upright, forcing down panic. "The attack. It's started," she mouthed. Watching Amaya's eyes dart left and right, taking in the chaos at a glance. She didn't waste a second, dashing toward a decorative planter against one wall and dragging Janai behind her. It wouldn't hide them for long, but every second they could grab was a second longer they could plan.

Janai realized the folly of this idea before they'd even reached the planter. She didn't have her cellphone with her, and she was willing to bet that Amaya didn't, either—her dress was snug enough that any extra bulk would be noticeable. Janai had glimpsed Kazi halfway across the room, hands on their head. Amaya might be able to read Janai's lips even in the midst of this chaos, but how would Janai understand anything more than the simplest sentences in reply?

She couldn't think on that. Not now, when every moment counted. "Were you able to find out anything more about his plans?" she asked desperately.

Amaya shook her head. "Not much," she signed. "But remember, he's not alone. He's working with others. We have to figure out who, why."

"We can't do that from in here," Janai whispered, flinching as someone glanced their way. It wouldn't be long before one of the 'waitstaff' came to collect the two of them. "And he's targeting you, specifically. We have to make a break for it, keep him from getting what he wants."

Amaya gazed across the room for a dozen rapid heartbeats, taking everything in. "They're taking hostages," she signed, spelling out the word, then followed it with something Janai thought meant, "Has anyone started making demands?"

Janai shook her head. "Not yet, not that I've noticed. But they're probably waiting until the room is secure." She frowned deeper. "And I don't see Shehu anywhere."

"The one you thought was helping Viren?" Amaya asked.

Janai nodded, still warily scanning the room. "Maybe he's—"

She flinched as Amaya tensed, drawing one leg up under herself, ready to spring. Janai whirled to find someone in Embassy red approaching them, serving tray discarded in favor of a small pistol. "Over there," they demanded, gesturing toward where the rest of the dignitaries had been grouped. "Now."

Amaya caught Janai's eye, glanced at the group, and gave the tiniest nod. "Follow their orders," Janai thought she meant, and the shiver of her eyelid in a wink said 'for now'.

"We're coming," Janai said, allowing her voice to quaver as though in fear. It wasn't difficult—she was terrified, for both of them. For _all_ of them, Khessa and Harrow, the princes, Viren's children. The staffers, who had worked so hard over the past few weeks; the Katolian delegates who had come, trusting, into their former enemies' stronghold.

But more than that, she was angry. _Furious._ How dare Viren, his co-conspirators, try to dismantle this chance for peace. It had taken Janai less than a week to see how much the war had harmed both countries, to learn what peace might bring about. To find a newfound hope for the future. She wasn't about to let old hatreds destroy years of work and endanger lives.

She and Amaya were hustled off toward the rest of the ball attendees, and Janai glanced surreptitiously around at them. Viren was huddled near the back, kneeling with his hands behind his head—but as she watched him, his gaze caught Janai and Amaya.

Janai had, over the past few days, grown used to watching Amaya. To noticing the slightest change in her expressive features. And now, as Viren saw the two newest arrivals, Janai caught the shift in his expression. The slightest rising of his eyebrows, the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. One corner of his mouth lifting in the barest hint of a smug smile.

He turned his head, and his lips moved, just a little. Just enough.

As Janai settled into place beside Amaya, the door at the far end of the ballroom burst open, and Jideofor Shehu strode forward.

His hands were folded behind his back, shoulders squared, as though he were a drill sergeant inspecting his troops. His dress shoes clacked on the floor, loud in the hush that had fallen over the crowded ballroom.

"Good evening," he said, and Janai repressed a shudder. She recognized that voice from the storage room, though it was even richer now with pompous laughter. "How gracious of you all to come to meet me here."

King Harrow stood from where he'd knelt in the midst of the huddled dignitaries. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked. Stern, brooking no argument. The voice of a man who was used to authority, though there was no arrogance in the words. He was clearly aware of the danger he was in, and just as clearly ready to fight if necessary to defend his people. Janai found admiration warming her chest, quite unexpectedly.

"It's quite simple," Shehu said, smiling as though he found the King's question amusing. "I represent a group of Xadians who are... unhappy with the proposed terms of the peace accord. And we'll be holding you hostage until our demands are met."

"Under whose authority?" Khessa snapped, standing as well.

Shehu laughed. "Mine," he said. "My name is Aaravos. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

The name was utterly unfamiliar to Janai, but Khessa blanched. This drew another laugh from the man. "Ah, so you have. Good. That should make things easier."

Khessa's eyes narrowed. "And you should know that I do not negotiate with terrorists," she spat.

"I was afraid you might say that," Shehu—Aaravos?—said, his voice thick with mock sorrow. He turned his head and nodded at one of, apparently, _his_ waitstaff.

A gunshot cracked across the space, echoing painfully in the cavernous room, followed by a scream. One of the Katolis dignitaries collapsed, clutching at their arm. The bullet had grazed it, blood spilling over their lacy dress. The smell of salt and iron mixing with the stench of gunpowder, throwing Janai breathlessly into memories of firefights in border towns.

She pinched her arm, hard, trying to ground herself. To hold herself in the present.

"I'm not a cruel man," Aaravos intoned, the satisfaction in his voice belying these words. "But I also don't negotiate."

He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from somewhere in his uniform, passed them to a subordinate who delivered them to King Harrow. "These are my terms. I will give you an hour to think them over. When I return, I expect to hear your answer. If I don't find it favorable...."

Aaravos gestured to the whimpering dignitary, then turned on his heel, strode confidently from the room. His people moving to block anyone from going after him. Janai settled back, her heart pounding, her mind racing—who was this man? What did he want? And... if he was from Xadia, why was he working with Viren?

Janai turned to ask Amaya what they should do—

Another gunshot, this one so close that Janai's senses were lost in sheer _noise_. She found herself sprawled, stunned, on the floor. Caught just a glimpse of Amaya crouched protectively above her, face white with terror and pain....

###### 

Amaya squinted, frustrated, at the newcomer's lips. He stood too far away, and the room's lighting was too inconsistent, for her to understand most of what he said--though his intentions were clear enough.

"Typical terrorist," she signed, though Janai wasn't looking at her. And she was fairly certain Janai would be too agitated to understand her in any case. "Didn't even bother to bring an interpreter."

She sat back on her heels, keeping her breathing steady. Janai would tell her, later, what this was all about. They would gather information, make a plan. Carry it out. Their enemies didn't know they were working together, and that ignorance would be their downfall.

Motion, to Amaya's side. She turned her head, casually as possible, to watch as someone in Katolis palace uniform shifted closer to Viren. They glanced aside at him, one hand drifting to their pocket.

He nodded, and Amaya read the words from his lips. "Do it. Take her out."

The staffer nodded back, pulled out their own pistol—and aimed it, not at Amaya, but at Janai. Janai, who still watched the silver-haired man's exit from the ballroom, oblivious to the imminent danger behind her—

Amaya lunged, tackling the 'Katolis staffer', and grabbed the gun just as they fired.

The bullet flew wide, lodging into the decorative paneling beside them, though Amaya was hardly aware of it. Her world lit with pain, the nerves in her hand aflame. She flung the gun aside, its barrel smoking, and punched the shooter in the neck with her left hand.

They dropped. Amaya lunged for Janai, who lay clutching her ear, her eyes unfocused—shock? She seemed physically uninjured, though. Amaya grabbed at her, yanked her upright. Gasping for breath, agony pulsing through her in time with her heartbeat. "We need to go, now," she signed, desperately hoping Janai would be able to understand her. "I think this is all a smokescreen. I think he's after _us_."

The room had broken into chaos again with the second gunshot, though the 'waitstaff' were quickly regaining order. If Amaya and Janai were to break free, it would have to be now.

Gritting her teeth, ignoring the pain, Amaya lunged for the nearest hostile. She caught them by surprise, threw them to the ground. Dashed toward the closest door, sparing only a glance for Janai running alongside her, stolen pistol in her hands.

Amaya wrenched at the door, found it latched. It wasn't designed to keep people in, though—she located the fire safety release just as another terrorist caught up.

They grabbed at Amaya, which surprised her—she'd expected further lethal force. Was there some reason Viren didn't want to kill her outright? She twisted free, feeling the hem of her dress catch on something and tear. Dammit, there was a _reason_ she didn't usually wear skirts—they were so impractical.

Janai, beside her, was fighting like a wildcat, kicking and clawing. Someone grabbed her by the back of her elaborate jacket, taking advantage of all the ropes and embellishments. She yanked at its front, scattering buttons. Pulled her arms free and left it behind. She punched one last attacker in the gut, then shoved Amaya through the gap in the door. Barely managed to follow her, slamming the door shut behind them.

Stumbling, unsure what she should do now, Amaya started toward the brightly lit EXIT sign at the far end of the hallway, with the vague thought of finding a phone and calling for help. They had to hurry. Their attackers would be on them within moments—

Janai tugged Amaya aside, dodging down one cross-corridor, then another. Ducking into the shadow of a doorway for just a moment. Scanning the hallway, clearly intent on finding a hiding spot. Amaya followed numbly, trying to master her breathing as pain throbbed through her hand. It was so distracting that she didn't realize Janai had opened the door to a broom closet until she found herself stumbling over a mop.

"—safe in here," she caught on Janai's lips as she glanced back. The cluttered shelves were softly lit by what amounted to a nightlight. Janai grimaced, nudging aside a bright yellow bucket so she could shut the door behind herself. "Mostly."

Janai wrapped an arm around Amaya's shoulders and pushed, urging her to sit against the far wall. Amaya complied with more of the same numbness, feeling herself tremble as she squeezed into the space between a vacuum and a metal shelving unit. It was easier now, though, to flip the little mental switch she'd mastered years ago. The pain still omnipresent, but somehow... less important, without so many negative connotations. Just another state of being.

"Let me look at that," Janai said, or Amaya thought she did. It was harder to read her lips here in the dim light, but the concern on her features was clear. Amaya held out her hand, and Janai took it, her eyebrows pinching together as she examined the burned flesh. "That's not good," she said, and Amaya couldn't help a tired laugh. Janai glanced up at her, clearly not amused. "I don't have anything to treat a burn—if we don't take care of it immediately, the damage could be permanent. If only there were a first aid kit in here—"

Janai twisted, squinting around their darkened surroundings, but nothing appeared to catch her eye. Rolling her eyes, Amaya reached down the front of her dress, tugging the little box free from her bra. She nudged Janai's arm with it, enjoying the way her eyes widened at the sight. "How's that?" Amaya signed, left-handed, as Janai took the kit from her with something like awed reverence.

"Where did you even—" The rest of the sentence was lost as Janai gave an incredulous shake of her head, but Amaya only grinned harder. "You are incorrigible," Janai murmured.

"And prepared," Amaya signed, breathing deep to keep from flinching as Janai nudged her right hand open again.

Janai glanced up with a slight frown, then shook her head and refocused on Amaya's palm. "All you have here are an antibiotic and a topical analgesic, but they're better than nothing. We should still get you to the infirmary as soon as possible." The focus required to read what Janai said helped, another distraction from the pain as Janai smoothed creams over Amaya's palm, as gently as she possibly could. A deeper frown. "And we don't have any bandages."

Amaya winked, tugging at the torn hem of her skirt. Janai's gaze lit with understanding, and as Amaya braced the fabric, Janai tore off a long strip. Amaya's tired mind got caught on that for a long moment. The sight—the _feel_ —of Janai ripping her dress.

Her gaze trailed over Janai. Without that bulky jacket, Janai wore only a sleeveless halter top, skintight fabric that left very little to the imagination. The lines of her muscles clearly defined, even in the dim light of the closet.

"It's not the cleanest, but that's what the antibiotic ointment is for," Janai mused, wrapping the fabric about Amaya's palm and tying it off. Then she glanced up, her gaze so intent that Amaya's breath caught in her throat. "Why is it that you're always the one getting injured?" Janai asked, the worried crease in her brow deepening.

Amaya let out a tired huff of amusement. "I can handle a little pain," she signed. Watching Janai watch her. The air in the little closet was growing more charged the longer they sat there, pressed together in the half-dark. "Better me than you."

Janai tilted her head, clearly puzzling out what Amaya had said, then scowled. "I'm afraid we'll have to disagree—" she began, and stiffened, her head turning toward the door. "Someone's coming," she signed unsteadily, looking about the tiny room as though looking for something to disguise themselves with.

There was nothing. Amaya already knew this. If anyone opened the door, she would have to be ready to strike at once, before the intruder could register their presence. Shoving her awareness of pain down as far as she could, she pulled herself carefully into a crouch, tensed to spring....

She hardly breathed for a long, long moment. Janai beside her, one hand carefully closing on the mop handle. The floor below them shook with footsteps, too muffled to make out distance or direction. Amaya's heartbeat thudding in her injured hand. Janai's pulse thumping against her where their shoulders pressed together.

The hallway light under the crack in the door was suddenly occluded. Had the person slowed? Stopped? It was so hard to tell. So difficult to feel the vibrations, to pick them out from where Janai trembled against her.

The light returned. Amaya breathed again.

"They're leaving," Janai said, turning her wide-eyed face toward Amaya. Mouthed? The words had a slightly different rhythm than her usual speech. She swallowed visibly, then spoke again, though Amaya couldn't make out the words. Too distracted by relief, tension unspooling from her shoulders. By the dawning realization, now the danger had passed, that she was pressed against _Janai_ , the hard-won muscles in her arms, the soft curves of her breasts and hips.

By the way Janai's gaze darted, for an instant, down Amaya's form, sending an unexpected rush of heat through her. What did Janai see there? Amaya suddenly, desperately, wanted to know.

Janai wet her lips, and Amaya inhaled sharply. Reached instinctively for Janai, aching to pull her closer. Stopped herself just in time. Janai followed the motion, her eyes darkening with... hunger?

The sight made something held tight within Amaya uncoil. She couldn't put a word to it—propriety? Restraint? Whatever it had been, its absence emboldened her, urging her onward. Both women stared as Amaya's hand lifted between them, as she pressed her fingers gently against Janai's face, trailed her fingertips down Janai's markings.

Janai leaned into that touch, her breath chasing across Amaya's wrist. She was so warm, so soft, even softer than Amaya remembered from the bakery. From her scattered dreams.

"Amaya, I--" Janai began, her expression transported by a longing so intense it was almost agonizing.

Their racing hearts were due to adrenaline, some distant part of Amaya knew. Her constant, welcome companion in battle, speeding up her perceptions. Allowing her to analyze every part of the battlefield, of her opponent. To glean the little details that would allow her to counter any blow, undermine any enemy's plans.

This time, however, it gave Amaya what felt like eternity to look Janai over. The crisp lines of the markings streaming down her cheeks, glittering even in this low light. Her dark eyes, deep and mysterious and unfathomable, filled with emotion that made Amaya's breath stutter. The curves of her parted lips, her perfect lipstick already smudged from the fight--

Her lips pressed together, then opened again, her tongue flicking against them as she whispered something that Amaya knew must be a desperate _please_.

Amaya forgot where they were. Forgot the danger, the risk. Forgot anything but desire as she surged forward, pressing herself against Janai in the cramped dark.

The kiss was a messy thing, all awkward angles and bumping noses, but Amaya couldn't care less. She clutched at Janai's waist with her uninjured hand, drawing Janai ever closer. Amaya's heart pounding as Janai's lips trembled against her own in a breathless sob of relief. She could count Janai's lashes as her eyes fluttered shut, except Amaya was too caught up in Janai's tongue tracing along her bottom lip. Janai's hands trailing down the front of her dress, slim fingers brushing Amaya's ribs through the thin fabric, leaving lines of fire in their wake.

Janai tasted of champagne and sweat and smoke, a heady, intoxicating combination. Amaya trailed open-mouthed kisses along the golden lines on her cheek, nipped gently at an earlobe, heat pulsing through her as a moan shuddered Janai's chest. Lost track of what she'd been doing as Janai's lips brushed against her collarbone, gentle as a breath, followed by the barest graze of teeth.

Amaya smoothed her hand across Janai's back, tracing the lines of her hips, her spine. A smile growing on Amaya's lips as the taut muscles beneath her fingertips tensed, Janai's breath coming sharp and fast. Janai's fingers caught in Amaya's hair, tugging just shy of pain as she brought their mouths back together. The warm, insistent press of her tongue. Amaya's stomach clenching with pleasure as Janai bit her lip, nearly hard enough to leave marks.

Janai stiffened, and it took Amaya a long moment to realize this wasn't just a response to the fact that she'd worked a hand up under Janai's midriff-baring top. Janai pulled back, flushed, gulping air. "More footsteps," she mouthed, casting a panicked glance toward the door. "They're not slowing, though."

Her gaze caught on Amaya's collarbone again, her eyes still desperate and wild, but she closed them and visibly pulled herself back together. "It's not safe here," she signed at last, her mouth twisting with reluctance. Pressed a hand to her heaving chest as though that could slow her pulse, still thumping visibly in her throat.

She took several deep breaths, unwinding herself from Amaya, who did the same with a deep pang of regret. Janai's fingertips trailing across Amaya's scalp as she pulled her hand free sent shivers through Amaya, warm and tingling; she clenched her left fist tight, trying to master herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so overcome by such a simple touch. Even now, even reminded that the embassy was still under siege, it took all Amaya's self-control to keep from pinning Janai against the overcrowded shelves as they helped each other stand.

Judging by Janai's hands nervously smoothing down her trousers, the way she kept glancing toward and then away from Amaya, the feeling was mutual. "—get moving," Janai said, turning a beat too late. She started speaking, stopped before Amaya had enough context to make out the words, then said, "We should... table this for now."

Amaya nodded firmly—or, well, she _tried_ to, but she ended up just jerking her chin awkwardly upward. An uncontrollable smile tugging at her lips. "I can think of a few things I'd like to do with you and a table," she signed, her shoulders twitching with laughter as Janai stared, uncomprehending. She was just too fun to tease.

Common sense, unfortunately, began to reassert itself as the fire started to recede from Amaya's veins. Her wide grin softened into something wry. "We need to talk, when we have time," she signed, slower now.

Janai nodded, her face almost sheepish, her dark skin still flushed red. "We do," she said, and pressed her ear to the door. "I don't hear anyone coming," she reported, and held one hand out to Amaya. Raising an eyebrow in invitation. "Let's go rescue our families."

Amaya took her hand, Janai's callused palm warm against hers, and they left the broom closet together.


	11. Grace Under (Sun)Fire

Janai eased the closet door open a crack. Peered cautiously down the hallway.

To the right. Then left. Holding her breath. Ready to strike.

No motion save a flickering light. 

No sound but her own pounding heart. 

She only dared emerge once she was certain the hall was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief at the lifeless silence. So unnatural in the usually-bustling embassy. So vital to her survival now.

To _their_ survival.

She beckoned for Amaya to join her, determinedly not glancing at Amaya's face. Janai didn't know how to feel any longer. Terror gripped her heart, fear for everyone trapped in the ballroom. For her fellow staffers throughout the embassy. Determination sang in her veins, the resolve to save everyone. To gather all the aid she could find and then strike back against this threat.

Yet even these paled in comparison to the acute, almost painful awareness of Amaya warm beside her. Amaya's soft breaths now intimately familiar, her every motion catching Janai's attention anew.

The heat of Amaya's skin still lingered on Janai's lips, on her hands. A trembling excitement that denied the danger around them, a desire—suppressed, but far from forgotten—to continue where they'd left off, to tug Amaya's jacket aside and leave possessive little marks down her collarbone. To seek out the scars Janai had glimpsed on other occasions and trace them, learning their secrets. To hear, once again, the stuttery little catch in Amaya's breath as Janai pressed closer, tugging at short dark hair—

By the _Light_ , she needed to focus.

"Our first priority should be to find any staffers who weren't in the ballroom during the attack," she said. Lips moving, though she didn't put any volume into the words. Sentences stolen one at a time once they'd determined each corridor cleared. She could only hope that Amaya understood her. "I can think of a few places they might have fled to. Fairly defensible, close enough to evacuate to but not so close that they'd be easily discovered."

Footsteps caught her attention. She mouthed a curse, tugging Amaya back around the corner they'd just come from. Waiting until the footsteps grew quieter. Neither of them dared risk peeking around the corner. If one of the terrorists looked up at the wrong moment, they were finished. 

A glance at Amaya held a wealth of information. Frustration plain in the creases on her brow. Trust in her gaze as she met Janai's eyes. Amaya must be relying entirely on Janai's perceptions. How hard must Amaya have fought, over the years, to prove she didn't need anyone else? The trust she was placing in Janai was humbling. Staggering.

Janai nodded, trying not to feel unworthy, and led them forward again.

They made their stumbling, halting way down three more corridors before Amaya tugged insistently at Janai's arm. "We need to talk," she signed, followed by something that took longer for Janai to parse. "Somewhere safe."

Janai nodded, pursing her lips in thought. She didn't dare open any doors that required keycards—for all she knew, the terrorists had infiltrated IT and the Security team. Bathrooms were probably safest, since the draft stoppers on the doors would keep light from leaking into the hallway, but the terrorists would probably have thought of this as well. "We'll find someplace," she promised, orienting herself. 

They were near the commissary, and the kitchens would be a decent place for someone to hide out. Doors that latched from the inside, plenty of weapons—though with the number of waitstaff involved in this attack, any potential allies might have already been captured. No matter. She would find out soon enough.

Janai eased them both around another corner. Wincing at the scuff of their shoes on the tile, the soft whisper of their clothing. Everything felt so _loud_ now, when a single mistake could spell the difference between success and unacceptable failure.

They crept down the corridor beyond. Janai's heart pounded in her ears. She swallowed, her mouth gone dry, and realized she was holding her breath. For how long? Long enough that she'd begun to grow lightheaded from lack of air.

One last corner. She eased toward it—and stopped, instinctively holding Amaya back. Her arm pressed distractingly against something warm and soft.

She thought she heard something from the corridor beyond. A soft rustle of cloth, or perhaps just the embassy's central air.

Dare she look? Or was someone lying in wait for them?

She pressed herself against the wall. "You don't happen to have a mirror in there, do you?" she asked, gesturing at Amaya's chest. Struggling to ignore the flush of heat in her own face. Curse it, this was _not_ the time to get distracted by how much Janai wanted to find out for herself just what was under Amaya's shirt.

The distinctly teasing glint in Amaya's eye made Janai shiver, but Amaya shook her head. Regretful. "No, sorry. Just..." a few signs Janai didn't recognize at all.

She bit back frustration. They didn't have time to either go through their supplies or play charades. Someone could happen upon them at any moment. "We'll have to improvise, then," she mouthed. Rapidly creating and discarding plans. "A frontal assault? Giving them no time to go for radios?"

"Not great," Amaya signed, followed by something Janai thought she recognized as 'weapons'. Her confusion was probably evident on her face. Amaya frowned, clearly troubled by how long it would take to rephrase her thoughts. Finally she mimed an explosion to one side of her, a punch to the jaw once she looked toward it. _Create a distraction._

Janai nodded, short and sharp. "With what?"

Amaya gave her a long look. "Trust me?" she signed at last.

 _With my life._ "I do," Janai said.

Amaya's smile went momentarily blinding. "I run," she signed. "You follow on my signal."

Then she turned and dashed down the hallway. Limping heavily, gasping audibly. A shout rang from the corridor in front of the kitchen as Amaya stumbled, falling to land against one wall. Glancing back fearfully as though she was being chased.

"You!"

Janai sucked in a sharp breath. _She's been spotted._ She trembled with the reflexive urge to rush forward, to protect Amaya--but no. Janai trusted her. She would wait for the signal.

Two sets of booted footsteps approached the huddled Amaya. She waited for one long, agonizing second. Two. Three.

At last, she caught Janai's eye and dropped her hand into "Now!"

Janai lunged, silent as she could. Centered her balance and swung around the corner. A shout. She caught the first of the terrorists by surprise, taking them down with a punch to the throat. Amaya moved in the same moment. Kicking the legs out from under the terrorist closer to her. Their head smacked against the floor with an uncomfortably loud _thunk_.

She frisked them quickly, stuffing supplies into a stolen pouch. At last she beckoned toward the wide commissary doors. Her eyebrow quirked in amusement. "After you."

Janai grinned back, giving the doors a once-over. She didn't see any improvised booby traps, though she still braced herself as she eased the doors open.

Nothing. With a long breath of relief, she motioned Amaya through after her.

Amaya shook her head, grabbing one of the downed terrorists by the shoulders. She winced and fell back, shaking her injured hand. With the other, she motioned a quick request for Janai to drag the bodies through the door, where they'd be less noticeable if anyone came patrolling.

"I'm on it." Janai hurried forward. "You check the perimeter. See if they left anything that could help or harm us."

Amaya nodded acquiescence, slipping into the commissary and out of sight. Janai pulled both terrorists in, hiding them under a table against one wall, and shut the doors as quietly as possible. In the stillness, even the tiny click of the latch was amplified. She flinched as though from a gunshot, cursing her frazzled nerves.

"Anything?" she asked, joining Amaya on the far side of the room.

"Nothing helpful," Amaya signed, holding up a handful of sugar and creamer packets with a dubious frown. "But the perimeter's clear. No more hostiles."

Janai breathed relief. "Good. Let's make a sweep through the kitchen and keep moving." She turned away, but Amaya's hand on her arm pulled her up short.

"We should talk first," Amaya signed. Frowning down at her hands, especially the one wrapped in makeshift bandages. 

Janai winced, biting her lip. Halfway to grabbing Amaya's hand in concern before arresting the motion. As though it weren't enough that she could understand few of Amaya's signs. The injury certainly wasn't Janai's fault, but she still felt responsible for it. Amaya had risked her voice to save Janai's life. The very least Janai could do was to acknowledge the gravity of that act.

"Thank you," she signed, with as much emotion as she could muster. "For saving me."

Amaya ducked her head, lips twisted into a wry smile. "I'd do it again." She started to sign something else, stopped, breathed out in a huff.

Then her eyes lit. She flung a 'wait here' at Janai and rushed back over to the tea-and-coffee bar. Grabbed a handful of napkins, then—with a teasing smirk—unbuttoned the top button on her jacket and reached in.

She rummaged around for a moment long enough to make Janai's mouth go dry, then finally retrieved a tiny pen, clicking it as she strode back over. She didn't bother to redo the button before leaning over the table beside them, scribbling hastily on a napkin before handing it over.

Janai stared down at the words written there with a numb sort of breathlessness. It took her a long moment to make sense of them.

"I'm sorry."

She glanced up, startled. "Amaya, you don't—" she began, but Amaya was already writing on another napkin. Her handwriting as quick and impatient as the woman herself.

"I was wrong," Janai read at last. "You were right. This isn't the sort of thing I can do alone, and I shouldn't have tried to. I shouldn't have let my own ghosts endanger us both. Our countries. We might have been able to stop this if I hadn't been so stubborn."

Amaya's face was set, daring Janai to argue with her, though Janai caught a vulnerable flicker in her gaze. In the slant of her astonishingly expressive mouth. This apology had cost her.

"I forgive you," Janai said. Tugging the signs from her memory and repeating herself in emphasis. "I don't know all your reasoning, but I know you were trying to protect me." She offered a soft smile. "You're good at that."

Amaya let out a breath of relief, her smile going soft and warm. "Thank you," she signed, and rested her hand tentatively on Janai's shoulder.

"And you have no proof we could have stopped this," Janai pointed out. "We _were_ working together. Sharing intel. And that's given us enough of an advantage that we're here, now, out of their clutches and working to destabilize them." She glanced guiltily down at Amaya. "And... the blame isn't entirely yours. I got caught up in my own arguments. I didn't realize what you were trying to say until it was too late."

A huff of laughter, and Amaya gave her shoulder a playful shove. "Nope. You don't get to take credit for my failures. Deal with it."

"Try and stop me," Janai said, leaning to press her forehead against Amaya's. A shiver running through her at the warmth in Amaya's eyes, her breath on Janai's cheek. "I dare you."

A clatter from the kitchen caught her attention, and she abruptly recalled that they were still on a _mission_ , still only marginally safe, and they definitely shouldn't be standing here making kissy-eyes at each other. She pulled away with an awkward cough. "I heard something from the other room. Be careful—we don't know who might be there."

Amaya nodded, a little too hastily. "Right. Let's go."

They crept toward the kitchen door together, and Janai pressed her ear to the door. Catching bits of a whispered conference, the words inaudible but clearly terrified.

She thought she recognized one of the voices.

A soft knock cut the whispers short. "Sabah?" Janai said into the frozen silence. "Is that you?"

Scuffling sounds, the sound of a latch turning. The door cracked open, just wide enough for a bright brown eye to peek through the gap. It widened at the sight of Janai. "Ser—you escaped!?"

Sabah tugged the door open, talking too fast in her relief. "Thank the Light you're here, we thought we were alone, why aren't you in the ballroom with the other—"

Amaya waved, and Sabah's eyebrows shot up in surprised recognition. "Delegates," she finished, faint. Clearly taking in the bandages, the distinctly unprofessional clothing. "Ser?"

"The ambassador is our ally," Janai said. She didn't realize she'd slipped into her General Voice until Sabah straightened, coming instinctively to attention. "We're working to retake the ballroom. Do you know if there are loyal staff in hiding elsewhere?"

Sabah shook her head. "We were at lunch when the attack hit," she said, gesturing behind herself to a handful of other embassy staffers. A few clutched kitchen knives; one held a meat tenderizer. "A few of us retreated into here and barricaded the door, gathered weapons. We were formulating a plan of attack when we heard what sounded like fighting...."

"We overpowered the guards at the door," Janai said. She glanced worriedly at Amaya, who had taken this chance to sit against the wall, breathing deep and obviously in pain. "But I'd like to get to the infirmary before we plan our attack. We didn't escape unscathed, and it's likely there will be others injured once we make our way back to the ballroom."

Sabah nodded firmly. "I can get us there through a couple of back ways," she said, then frowned. "Though the... the enemy will probably know about them, too. Since they're mostly waitstaff."

"I can't believe it," one of the other staffers said quietly from behind her. "I was talking to Edosio just half an hour ago. I thought we were _friends_."

Janai winced. "Don't worry," she told Sabah. "We're good fighters, we're determined, and we have surprise on our side. We'll make it through." _Hopefully without having to kill anyone._

Still, she wasn't going to discard the option of deadly force. She distributed their gathered weapons—especially the pistols from the terrorists they'd felled— then tapped Amaya on the shoulder. "We're regrouping in the infirmary," she said. "Let's go."

Amaya's mouth twisted, but she nodded, letting Janai pull her up by her good hand.

Traversing the hallways with more than half a dozen people was a lot less quiet than Janai would have liked. She ended up scouting ahead, signalling Amaya forward once she'd determined it was safe. Twice they had to backtrack to avoid patrols; once they were almost discovered, though some quick thinking from one of the staffers—a janitor, Janai thought—got them out of the way just in time.

Their luck ran out just three corridors from the infirmary.

Janai crept forward, peering around a corner—and yelped, jumping back, as the terrorist lying in wait brought their pistol to bear on her. "Enemies ahead!" she signed, fumbling. Had this trap been laid to catch anyone attempting to access the infirmary? Or was 'Aaravos' perhaps aware that Amaya had been injured in the escape, and had sent these people to recapture her?

Amaya nodded once, sharp, and immediately set about directing her 'troops', in a rapid blend of sign language and military signals from both sides of the border. Whatever it took to get the message across. "Fall back, draw them out. Don't get shot. Is there a back route? A pincer move?"

Janai grimaced—she hadn't been down here often enough to know. She turned to ask the other staffers, but a soft _click_ caught her attention. Quiet, understated.

Potentially disastrous. 

The sound of someone unlatching a radio from a belt holster.

Janai had only moments to act. She spun, met Amaya's eyes. "Your jacket!" she signed, sharp with desperation.

Amaya yanked it from her shoulders at once. Pausing just long enough to tug the headscarf from her pocket before balling up the jacket and throwing it to Janai.

She caught it and flung it into the other corridor just as the crackle of static sounded from the terrorist's radio. 

A sharp curse, the clatter of the radio hitting the floor. Janai struck in that same moment. Lunged around the corner, taking in the scene at a glance. Pistol trained on the falling fabric, dark eyes widening.

Before the terrorist could adjust their aim, Janai was upon them. 

They dodged, fast and low. The sharp retort of gunfire struck Janai like a blow, though the bullet flew wide. Thank the Light the embassy was all but deserted by now. She swept a leg across the ground, knocked them off-balance. Pulled them into a grapple. She was at least half a foot taller than her opponent—they didn't have the leverage to wrest free before she locked an arm around their neck.

She wrenched both gun and radio from the terrorist's grip as she dragged them back around the corner. Out of sight. Reinforcements wouldn't be too far behind—she'd have to work quickly. "Any of you know them?" she asked breathlessly, shifting her grip as they tried to squirm free.

Most of the group shook their heads, though a staffer from Maintenance raised a tentative hand. "I think I do? I've seen them with—"

The captive terrorist took a deep breath. Amaya lunged forward, clapping a hand over their mouth as they began to yell. The words came out muffled, incomprehensible. Not loud enough to carry farther than the end of the hallway.

She winced as they tried to bite her, and Janai tightened her grip, squeezing until they went limp. "So much for getting answers," she muttered. "There's probably more on the way to the infirmary. You all ready to fight?"

Everyone nodded.

"Then let's go."

Janai enlisted Sabah's help to drag their captive along, grabbing the fallen jacket as they crept down the corridor. "I don't hear more footsteps, but that can't be everyone," Janai whispered. "They're probably ready to ambush us as soon as we're in view."

Maintenance raised their hand again. "If we backtrack a bit, I can try to get into the power grid," they said. "Turn off the lights for the next few corridors. No guarantees, but I'll do my best."

"Good. That will disorient them, but we'll need to move quickly. If it's not already obvious we're trying for the infirmary, it won't take them long to figure that out." Janai frowned, sifting through and discarding plans of action.

Amaya nudged her arm. "They won't have left many people here. Most will be upstairs. We just have to break through before they recover."

Janai nodded. "They'll be using deadly force. We have to be ready for the same." One or two of the staffers looked uneasy, but no one argued. "There were two stationed outside the commissary—we should expect at least that many here. You—" she glanced at Maintenance's nametag, "Obasi, can you turn out the light behind us just before you take out the infirmary corridor? As a signal?"

They saluted. "Yes, ser. Do you want them disabled, or just temporarily disrupted?"

"Temporarily, please. Leaving the corridor dark might invite an ambush once we leave." Janai turned to the others. "As soon as the signal hits, be ready to attack. As fast and quiet as possible. Obasi, go."

They turned and slipped back around the corner, and Janai led the rest of her group cautiously down the hallway. She heard nothing from the next corridor, but she thought there might be distant voices. Just outside the infirmary itself? 

The jacket-trick elicited no response, and they eased around the corner. Voices, definitely. At least one of them tinny and crackling. Janai winced, hoping they were receiving orders instead of reporting the brief scuffle. Enemy reinforcements were the last thing she needed—

The light in the corridor behind them went out.

She tensed, Amaya at her side, staffers arrayed around them, and the next corridor went dark.

A shout—surprised? Angry? Janai hastily judged its location and broke into a sprint, swinging around the corner with her pistol drawn. The dim red emergency lighting turned the enemy troops into ominous shadows. She lunged for the closest, ducking low to present less of a target. They shouted. Swinging something toward her with the gleam of metal. She dodged, putting all her power into a body blow. 

Her opponent dropped with a breathless gasp, something clattering across the ground. She chanced a glance away from them, found another dark form sprawled on the floor. The sharp sounds of metal on tile, flesh on flesh, faded out—

Another yell. A dark shape lurched into view at the far end of the corridor, too far away for any of them to reach. Red light glinting off metal in one outstretched hand.

Amaya snatched up one of the fallen pistols and fired, the muzzle-flare blinding in the darkness. The shout became a cry of pain. Janai flinched, dry-mouthed, at the all-too-familiar sound of a falling body. She found herself running toward the new arrival. Dropped to a crouch in the dim light at the intersection. Blood spattering the white floor.

Not _much_ blood. Janai breathed a covert sigh of relief at the hand pressed firmly to a torn thigh. The thin string of breathless, tear-stained invectives. Amaya's shot, off-the-hip and in the dark, had been far from fatal. Certainly incapacitating, though. 

"Someone help me secure them," she said into the darkness, and she was quickly joined by another of their little group. They began to bandage the wound as Janai secured the terrorist's hands, confiscated their weapons.

A distant shout snapped her head toward the corridor they'd just left. She saw Amaya approaching and held her hands into the light. "Help them!" she signed, gesturing toward their new prisoner. Sprinted back down the hall with barely a glance at Amaya's answering nod.

She swung around the corner—and saw a pistol pointed at her. Raised her hands at once, recognizing the face behind the shaking hands. "Obasi! Report."

They gasped in relief, lowering the gun. "Thank the Light it's you, ser. Someone tried to come up behind me, stop me." A pause, while they gulped for air. "I think it was Rayowa. We train together in the gym sometimes. And I fired at aer. Dunno if I hit anything. I... I didn't dare go check. But I didn't hear aer fall, ae just yelled and ran." They smoothed a trembling hand through their hair. "Dammit, this is why I'm in Maintenance. I'm no good in combat."

"It seems to me as though you did an admirable job," Janai said, offering a salute. The gesture made them smile, at least. "Come now, we've secured the corridor—"

"Ser!" An urgent, panicked cry. She found herself sprinting for the third time in two minutes. Curse it, why couldn't a plan go right for _once_ —

She had only a moment to parse the scene. The first terrorist—the one they'd dragged here—had broken free. They stood with one arm around Sabah's neck, a pistol pointed at Amaya, who held their gaze with hard, cold eyes. Her own weapon brought to bear on their forehead.

Then the infirmary door swung open, and someone in a white coat brought down a _chair_ on the terrorist's head before anyone else could react. They dropped, limp, pistol slipping from nerveless fingers. 

The medic beckoned wildly. "Come on—inside! Before they get reinforcements."

"Thank you," Janai gasped. Almost moved to laughter, despite the gravity of the situation. She grabbed for the fallen terrorist and dragged them through the door, remanding them to someone within, and beckoned the others to follow.

She slammed the door shut behind the last of her people and latched it, shoving one of the waiting-room chairs into place under the doorknob. A rudimentary barrier at best, but if anyone came after them, every second they could gain would help.

"Gener—Ambass— _Ser_ ," stammered one of the medics, glancing toward where their colleagues were hard at work securing the terrorists and checking their injuries, "what are you doing here? We thought the dignitaries were being held hostage."

"Most of them still are," Janai said. "But we're about to change that." She caught Amaya's eye. "Go to them," she signed, tapping her own palm.

Amaya nodded, strode forward and settled onto one of the emergency cots. She caught one of the medics' attention and held out her hand, hastily bandaged in torn blue fabric. "A little help?" she signed, her smile gone wry.

Janai interpreted absent-mindedly to the medic, nudging them toward Amaya. "Ambassador Amaya was injured during the escape attempt. Please do all you can for her."

"Yes, ser," the medic said, giving Janai a curious glance before squaring their shoulders and marching over to the cot. Janai watched for a long, worried moment before a cleared throat from behind her recalled her to her place.

Sabah smiled weakly, surreptitiously rubbed her throat. "So, what's the plan for retaking the ballroom?"

"We'll discuss that once we've all had a moment to rest," Janai said. "Take this time to catch your breath, gather supplies. We'll need all our strength to break through and rescue the rest of the delegates."

Sabah and the other staffers nodded, then dispersed throughout the infirmary, speaking in low voices and opening cabinets. Janai let out a long breath and made her way to Amaya's side.

Amaya's shoulders were hunched, one eye squeezed shut against the pain as the medic tended to her burned palm. Janai waved, making sure Amaya could see her. "How's it going?"

"So-so," Amaya signed, left-handed, with a smile that looked more like a grimace. She glanced wryly between the medic and Janai. "They're good, but they're not as..." Janai wracked her brain—was that 'soft'? No, 'gentle', "as you."

"Oh." Janai bit her lip, but couldn't keep from grinning down at Amaya. "Thank you." She gave Amaya's shoulder a teasing nudge. "Didn't figure you for a whiner."

Amaya laughed. "Fighting words," she signed, then gave the medic an apologetic smile as they told her to stop moving her fingers. "Sorry. Habit."

The medic coughed into one fist. "Um. So, I've treated the burns and re-wrapped them. You shouldn't use that hand for at least a week... though from the looks of things, that'll be a tall order." They grimaced. "I wish I'd treated you sooner. You're far from losing the hand, but it'll take a while before you'll have a full range of motion back. And there will probably be scarring."

"I'll live," Amaya signed, waving her bandaged hand before her face. "Thanks for the help."

Janai interpreted again, and the medic gave her a _very_ questioning look before moving aside. "I'll... leave you two alone. Ambassadors."

Amaya's smile as she watched the medic move away was distinctly impish. "Looks like I'm not the only one impressed with how fast you've learned," she signed.

"Oh. Um." Words failed Janai for a long moment, and she found herself looking Amaya over, _really_ looking at her, for the first time since she'd removed her jacket.

The bruises Janai had noticed up in the ballroom were on full display now, peppering Amaya's muscular arms and shoulders in a brilliant display of purples, reds, and sickly yellows. The slash on her arm, which Janai had bandaged that Wednesday night, had now faded to a dotted line of deep scabs. It would scar over before long, joining the dozens of scars that already decorated Amaya's skin. Slashes and punctures and mottled pink burns. The arms of a soldier.

The... warm, strong, heavily-muscled arms of a _very attractive_ soldier.

Janai swallowed hard, trying to figure out where she could look without getting too distracted. This was a tall order. The sight of Amaya in a dress still hit Janai hard in the back-brain every time she thought of it. The tattered hem brought a flush to her cheeks, and the low bustline left her sneaking glances at the slight curves it revealed. 

And looking at Amaya's face, mussed hair and bright eyes and a quirked smile, was perhaps even worse. Janai kept getting caught on the little details there. The way the scar slashed across her cheek emphasized her cheekbones. The eternally stubborn set of her chin. The smudges of lipstick on the corner of her mouth—

Janai glanced down at Amaya's collarbone, an involuntary motion, and couldn't hold back a strangled little sound. Lipstick stained the skin there, half-hidden among the bruises. That one detail shifted Janai's perceptions—the battle-tangled hair, the torn dress, grew more enticing than ever. Amaya's smile held a wicked edge, and the sparkle in her eyes promised a repeat of the closet incident and more, if they could only get out of this alive.

This was _definitely_ not helping Janai come up with a plan.

"So," Janai said. Folding her arms behind her back, the better to pinch herself surreptitiously. "Are you... feeling well? As well as can be expected?"

Amaya shrugged, scrawling a note on one of her remaining napkins. "Well enough to take on a ballroom full of armed insurgents holding hostages? I'll have to be." She glanced sharply up at Janai. Intense, probing. "You?"

Janai laughed. "I'm better off than you are," she pointed out. "Which of the two of us has been blown up recently?"

"In my defense, that's not the first time I've been blown up," Amaya wrote. She shot Janai a mock glare. "The first time was _your_ fault."

"I'll be sure to apologize once we're safe," Janai said, grinning as Amaya laughed. "Now come on. If you're all bandaged up, we should gather the troops, make a plan."

Amaya nodded, pushing herself off the cot. She turned to stride through the infirmary—

Her dress was _backless_.

Janai found herself leaning hard against the cot, staring after Amaya. Her gaze travelling over the muscles in Amaya's shoulders, the dips of her spine, the divot in her lower back. A vast expanse of impossibly tempting skin, framed by soft dark fabric. More scars, jagged punctures and irregular slashes, only half-revealed. 

There was _lace_ on her bra strap.

Janai pushed herself off the cot and followed through the infirmary on autopilot, trying desperately to think strategy through the pure gay panic singing in her veins.

This was going to be a _long_ meeting.

###### 

Amaya's steps slowed as she approached the infirmary room where the embassy staffers had all congregated. She didn't really feel ready to deal with people just yet. Still shaky from adrenaline, and though the searing pain in her hand was subsiding at last, it only served to emphasize the rest of her aches. She was exhausted, and reading lips was growing steadily more difficult as the day wore on. The unfamiliar clothing she wore sat oddly on her skin, making her shiver in the faint chill of the infirmary.

And this ordeal wasn't even close to finished. She had no idea how they would get back to the ballroom, or what might await them there. Where the terrorists could be hiding. What their end-goals might be, what would happen if—when—they didn't get what they wanted. She knew no one here but Janai and Sabah, and had no guarantee that any of the others would be able to work alongside a former Katolian general.

And yet, as Janai came up beside her, striding long to catch up, Amaya couldn't help but fall in step.

They didn't have a choice. They would see this through. They'd both been through worse during the war and survived.

Janai gestured Amaya into the room before her, and Amaya chose a space where she could see most people's faces. Just close enough to take in physical details, trying to match each person to their name. She caught one or two nervous glances sent her way as she leaned back against the wall, watching Janai.

"We have several objectives," Janai began, still holding herself as though she were wearing her military uniform instead of a distractingly tight halter top. "We must determine our enemy's numbers, location, and assets. We must find any other loyal staffers who may have been stranded or captured. And we must retake the ballroom. Quickly and quietly. If we alert the enemy, they will retaliate. If we don't hurry, those in the ballroom may be in grave danger." She looked each person in the eyes, lingering at last on Amaya. "Does anyone have ideas?"

Fortunately, several of them did. Amaya tried to follow the back-and-forth, but she lost track more than once. No matter. Janai would make certain Amaya knew what to do once the time came.

She found herself falling into exhausted contemplation. Worrying about her family, breathing through the pain. Her injured hand worried her more than she'd let on—how long would it be before she could once again sign with ease? It was terribly stifling to only be able to use her left hand, and she knew she would keep unconsciously trying to sign with her right, further delaying its healing. At least she was well-practiced in fighting ambidextrously, precisely so an injury to her dominant hand didn't spell her doom. Small blessings.

Janai spoke up, gesturing expansively, and Amaya was caught by the confidence in Janai's posture, the fervor in her expression. Had Janai looked like this when giving speeches to her troops in wartime? There was an inherent attraction in the sheer emotion Janai radiated, even without all the other trappings Amaya had become tangled in. Bright smiles and quick impatience, a love of motion that felt like home. Fierce protectiveness and a simmering passion, usually hidden so well beneath her royal surface, so stunning when she allowed it to break free—

Amaya snapped awake, realized Janai was watching her, concern pressing a line into her forehead. Amaya gave her a sheepish smile. "Summarize, please?" she asked, spelling it out surreptitiously.

The slightest nod, and Janai addressed the room again. "Very well, you three will scout the security office." The indicated staffers nodded. "Obasi, you and Sabah are to secure an alternate route into the ballroom." Firm nods, determined eyes. Each of Janai's people seemed willing to obey her without question.

Amaya raised her hand. "How many cellphones do we have?" she asked. Janai interpreted her question to the room at large. Red softly tinting her cheeks as several of the staffers glanced, clearly intrigued, between the two generals. "We should be able to contact each other in an emergency."

"Most of us ditched them," Sabah said. She still seemed the most willing to speak with Amaya. "First the data breach, then an attack? For all we knew, they were being tracked. But I think—Maduka, didn't you say you had a VPN or something?"

"I've got a lot of... non-standard software," Maduka admitted, round cheeks going pink as they pulled a cellphone from their pocket. "I can't guarantee it's unhackable, but it's at least way better than what the embassy gave us."

Amaya nodded, thoughtful. "Have you tried to contact someone outside the embassy?"

Maduka shook their head. The gentle motion of their thin, shoulder-length braids was oddly hypnotizing when Amaya was this tired. "None of us really know anyone who doesn't already work here," they said. "And... we were too scared to call, in case someone heard us."

Amaya started to sign, but realized she didn't know if she could get this much information across to Janai in a timely manner. "Could I borrow your phone?" she asked.

They started, then nodded, handing it over with trembling fingers. Amaya typed out her concerns to Janai, erasing each line of text as she read it. "I'm sure someone's alerted the police by now. Especially if anyone outside heard gunshots. I could text them just in case, but I still can't be sure this phone isn't compromised." Amaya frowned. "There is one thing I could try. It's a risk, but I think it's an acceptable one."

"Then do it," Janai said. Settling her hand on Amaya's shoulder for just a moment, then yanking it back like she'd been burned. Her palm on Amaya's bare skin was hot and dry, soothing. "I trust you."

"Thank you," Amaya signed, warmed by Janai's immediate answer. She typed in Gren's number, desperately glad she hadn't asked him to come. He often accompanied her to these sorts of events, but with all the trouble over the past few days, he'd offered to head to the palace and keep investigating while Viren was gone.

She frowned, staring down at the on-screen keyboard. "sun place not-safe," she finally typed out, using emoji wherever possible. "HCE in fancy move space. not-good serve people guns hold. red blue light friends tell."

There. With luck, that would look like gibberish to any potential interceptor. She sent the message and tried to hand the phone back.

"No, keep it," Maduka said. "I... you need it more than I do, right now."

"Thank you," Amaya signed, sincerely touched by the gesture. She wrapped the phone in her silk headscarf and tucked it carefully into her top. If she ever wore a dress again, it was going to have _pockets_ , dammit.

One of the staffers, who Amaya thought was named Uzoma, raised their left hand. Plastic 'skin' gleaming dully in the fluorescent lights. "I'm sorry—I'm still kind of confused," they admitted, glancing aside at the other staffers. "Do we even know who these people are? Other... other than our friends, some of them?"

Janai glanced at Amaya, who gestured expansively to the others. "Might as well tell them everything. Double agents don't usually go so far as to fake going into hiding."

"Very well." Janai gave a quick, heavily edited precis of the situation with Viren, adding the caveat that Aaravos himself was a complete unknown. "We do not know how they came to be working together or why. However, if Viren is involved, then we can only assume that he does not hold Xadia's best interests at heart."

"The whole hostage-taking thing kinda says that, too," Amaya signed aside to her, warmed by her wry smile.

A staffer, short, cornrows decorated with bright beads—Adanna, if Amaya had caught their name correctly—waved tentatively. "I recognize him," they admitted. "Not as Aaravos—he went by Shehu then. He worked here months ago, though I was never sure what he did. We didn't move in the same circles." They jerked their chin in an apparent nervous gesture. "But I did get assigned in the same areas as him sometimes. He used to make jokes about..." Their eyes flicked away from Janai, then determinedly back, "about how he'd rule the country better than the Queen. Little things, y'know? Ridiculous stuff like 'these files are a mess, if I were in charge, no one would dare leave them this disorganized'. I always just laughed it off."

"I don't recognize him, but I have heard of this 'Aaravos'," another staffer offered. Mfoniso? Coral lipstick, green eyes. "Just rumors, though. I wasn't sure if he was a person or an organization, but there've been stories for years about him trying to overthrow the Sunfire Throne. I think there was a failed coup more than a decade ago? But it was all pretty hush-hush." Their mouth twisted. "Like maybe he had somebody on the inside to quash rumors for him."

Janai folded her arms, worry creasing her brow. "So it is entirely possible that this 'Aaravos' is actively working against Xadia. In Katolis' favor?" She glanced at Amaya, who knew her own apprehension was plain on her face, then determinedly away. "But I have it on good authority that he and Viren were planning the assassinations of Katolian officials as well. There may be ulterior motives here that we have yet to discern."

"I know a couple of the people working for him," Uzoma said. Wincing. "They... they're not really Katolis-friendly people. I always wondered why they chose to work here." They shook their head, smiling sadly. "Guess I know why now. But I don't think they would have agreed to a plan that would help Katolis."

"Did you think they would have hurt Xadia, though?" Sabah asked, wrinkling her nose. "Because I never would have expected that of Temidire, but she was up there with the rest of them."

"Perhaps they felt it was justified," Janai mused. Something bleak in her gaze. Her beautiful eyes distant as though watching unpleasant memories play out before her. "That we had betrayed them by agreeing to this treaty. It took me almost too long to see this is truly the best course of action, for Xadia and for Katolis both."

She shook the melancholy from her features and met Amaya's eyes, softening at whatever she saw there. "But I know we will prevail. We know this embassy as well as they do. We have allies within and without the ballroom, including those our enemy will not expect." More than one staffer followed her gaze to Amaya, who held herself at a parade rest that belied her rather disparate clothing.

Sabah, apparently grown bold, raised her hand. "But what will you and the ambassador do? You haven't mentioned your own tasks. Will we not be aiding you?"

Janai smiled unexpectedly, a bright little quirk of true amusement that sent Amaya's stomach fluttering. "We'll be getting into the ballroom itself to aid those within. It's the most dangerous part of the mission, and I can't with good conscience ask any of you to do it—but with your support as you begin to retake the embassy, we should be able to hold our own."

"How will you be getting in?" Adanna asked, seeming unwilling to do more than glance shyly at Amaya. "Won't the bulk of the enemy's forces be concentrated there, especially after you managed to escape?"

"True," Janai admitted. "But I have a plan that I'm fairly certain will get us through, safe and sound."

She began to detail a complex plot involving misdirection and subterfuge. Growing ever more expansive as she explained it, wide gestures and enthusiastic expressions. Amaya watched with building amusement, and found herself biting back a grin despite the dire situation. This plan was familiar. _Incredibly_ familiar.

"I wonder how you came up with something that brilliant," she signed, catching Janai's eye as she finished speaking.

Janai actually smiled, though she ducked her head modestly. "It _was_ a brilliant plan," she said. Her accompanying signs rudimentary but highly complimentary. "It took me two months to figure out how you'd accomplished such a feat. I hated you for it."

Amaya laughed. Little more than a huff of breath, a twitch of her shoulders, but Janai's entire countenance brightened. "What about the Battle of the Whispering Bay? I had to leave half my supplies behind during that retreat. I still don't know how you got everyone past my sentries in so short a time."

"As though that were any great task," Janai said, smiling outright now. "None of them had your knack for subtlety or your attention to detail."

"Oh, so you're insulting my training now?" Amaya asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Fighting words." She tapped her bicep, drawing Janai's captivated gaze. "Meet me in the gym when we're done here, and I'll give you a good look at my 'attention to detail'."

Right now, she was noticing a _lot_ of things that were definitely not conducive to storming a fortified enemy position. Dilated pupils, sweat at Janai's temples. Rapid pulse and unsteady breaths. A glance down Amaya's body, reminding her just how much she _wasn't_ wearing right now. Usually she felt uncomfortably exposed in clothing like this—the jacket she'd worn had been something of a security blanket. But now, under Janai's scrutiny, Amaya was beginning to think that she could stand being a lot _more_ exposed.

Just... not in a room full of frightened staff.

More than one of whom were watching the exchange between their leader and her longterm rival with bemusement, or confusion, or growing enlightenment.

Janai was wrong, Amaya decided. She was _terrible_ at subtlety.

Unfortunately, Janai noticed them at almost the same moment. She tossed her head, snapping back into a professional stance that belied her reddening ears. "You all have your orders," she said. "You know what is at stake. We cannot fail, and we _will_ not fail. Light willing, our friends—our families—will come through this safe and sound."

She crossed her wrists before her face, and staffers around the room mirrored the gesture. Amaya joined in. It seemed the right thing to do.

Judging by the bright smile that flickered on Janai's lips, she seemed to agree.

"Let's go!" she said, and the staffers dispersed, flooding back through the infirmary. Janai herself fought against the tide. Striding up to Amaya and holding out her right hand.

Amaya took it without a second thought. Brought Janai's fingers to her lips and pressed a warm, firm kiss to her knuckles, meeting her gaze with firm determination.

"Our families need us," Janai said, all but glowing under the fluorescent infirmary lights. "Let's go rescue them."

Amaya nodded, sharp and sure, and they strode from the room hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Considering this started as a one-shot, and then I guessed it was gonna be ten chapters, I think having only two extra is quite the feat XD
> 
> (Watch me split the final chapter, too, because I'm a menace to society)
> 
> I've finally got some links in my Tumblr bio! ~~they only work properly on mobile rn but someday I'll figure it out, until then you can just delete the Tumblr part of the URL~~
> 
> Glad y'all liked the kiss last chapter! It was a true delight to write, and ~~thanks to the ridiculous crossover my beta and I are still/eternally working on~~ I'm getting a lot more comfortable writing more intimate scenes, an achievement whose fruits I fully intend to pass on to my delightful readers. <3


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